


Lucky Star

by zimriya



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slow Burn, probably also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-12-06 21:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: The night before his SM audition, Shim Changmin wishes on a star. He gets Jung Yunho. A Stardust AU.





	1. wish one: to sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For, uh, well, vampire-unnie. Cause we need fic, and we started talking during this story and A LOT OF THE HERO WORSHIP IS DIRECTLY INSPIRED BY THAT. LET’S NOT TALK ABOUT IT NOW. I, like baby Changmin, got over it. 
> 
> Betad by Debs (who is, a real STAR), and Aixing, who is amazing, and partially inspired this plot to begin with by tweeting about Sun Yunho and Moon Changmin. You’re both the real most valued players here. Particularly given the fact that I couldn’t remember how I’d written out numbers and kept forgetting to stick Hyung onto Yunho’s name b/c I never do b/c usually the two of them are close enough they don’t need it. All other mistakes are my own. 
> 
> A note: byul (별) is star in Korean.

**wish one: to sing**

\--

“ _So, uh, I guess, um. I’d like. I don’t really want to go tomorrow but Mom says I have to-- I mean, um, Mom’s lovely. Mom just wants what’s best for me but I can’t even dance-- I mean, um.”_

_Rustling of sheets, the slide of sweaty palms along pajama clad legs, a purposeful and serious hush._

_“I. I wish that I-- I just want to be normal-- I wish. I wish everything will work out tomorrow and SM won’t cast me-- No, wait, I. I wish. I. I just love to_ sing _, is all.”_

_Laughter, wavering into silence._

_“That’s not even a wish. This is stupid. No one even believes in wishes anyway. And it’s not like there’s even been a shooting star or anything. Good job, Shim. Good job.”_

_Blinding light--_

\--

“So…let me get this straight,” says Changmin, after a minute’s pause, heart racing, mind racing, and throat incredibly, incredibly dry.

The naked boy in the middle of his room stares back at him, seemingly unbothered by the state of himself.

Changmin feels like he’s gone and swallowed lead. “Right,” he says, more to himself than anything else. “Right, okay, um. So. You’re a Star.”

The boy nods, head bowing, and Changmin watches the waterfall slide of his hair and thinks it odd that the boy seems Korean, if not for the too long hair and too bright…aura… _glow_ …thing he’s got going on.

“A _Star_.” Changmin puts an emphasis in lieu of actually trying to put into  words the fact that he means Star as in a proper noun, as in, the JYP singer Kim Goeun, as in, an actual, living, breathing--and apparently _wish_ granting--Star.

Apparently named Yunho. Because, well, that was the first thing the boy’d said to him, with one too-bright naked hand--of course it was naked; hands are _always naked_ \-- pressed tight over Changmin’s mouth, and Changmin had really only considered two things.

One: he was going to die.

And Two--

“Why do you sound like you’re from Jeolla-do?” says Changmin, smartly, because he’s barely fifteen years old and there’s only so much excitement a barely fifteen year old can take, especially when you’ve just finished wishing on a star about an audition you don’t even want to go to, to begin with. And that star has, apparently, materialized in your room.

The Star, for lack of a better word, blushes, but Changmin winces, because it’s not really a blush so much as it is his entire glow changing colors, and Changmin would like to not get in trouble with his parents.

So he maybe throws his entire blanket at Yunho. At the Star

The glow very abruptly goes out. “Sorry,” says Yunho. Says the Star.

Changmin swallows once more. “It’s fine.” His voice is very high.

“Anyway, to answer your question, I have an accent because I like to listen to…Jeolla-do….a lot.”

Changmin mulls that over. “You were going to say something else,” he determines.

He can’t see the boy through the blankets, but he thinks he would be really blushing if he could. As it stands, Changmin’s just incredibly thankful that Yunho’s stopped glowing.

There’s a longer than normal pause. “Yeah,” Yunho says finally. “I can see a lot at…home.”

“ _At home. In the sky_ ,” Changmin whispers, more to himself, but Yunho pops his head out from under Changmin’s comforter anyway, eyes bright and glittering and skin starting to light up.

Changmin yelps, barely keeping it together, and grabs for the blankets and smothers the boy in them once more, heart pounding.

He hadn’t meant to stay up past midnight with nerves, but his Mom had basically decided they’d be going to SM first thing in the morning--even missing school--and he hadn’t been able to sleep. Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is all just a nerve induced dream.

In his arms, the boy makes a disgruntled sounding noise, and when Changmin finally lets up on the strangling, his face pokes halfway out again.

“Sorry,” he says, frowning a little. “You’re lucky I don’t need to breathe.”

And isn’t that just great, isn’t that just _wonderful_ , Shim Changmin has a real live not-breathing _Star_ in his bedroom, and in just under eight hours, he’s going to have to go sing in front of company officials and try not to look too much like he can only really march in a straight line so far as dance.

If he were braver, and less tired, he’d probably try out some of the swears his friends at school have started using when the teachers aren’t around.

Unfortunately, all Changmin really feels capable of is sitting down rather heavily in the middle of his room.

The Star, eyes still bright, and face still half shrouded by the blanket, sits with him.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and smiles for good measure.

His teeth are terrifyingly straight, and even they seem to glow a little.

Changmin decides he’d like to just go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

Changmin sighs, scowls, shifts around on his too-hard floor, and finally decides it’s not worth it.

He gets up, untangles his blanket from the boy on his floor--who is _not_ a star--and gets back in bed, tucking the comforter around himself and closing his eyes once more.

Sleep… _still_ doesn’t come.

Changmin scowls again, eyes popping open. “I can hear you thinking, you know,” he says.

There’s a pause, and then a barely there whisper that Changmin isn’t sure if he’s actually heard, because it sounds remarkably like: “I didn’t know humans could do that,” and Changmin’s trying to go back to sleep so he can stop dealing with this messed up nerve-induced nightmare.

“Sorry,” says the boy. “It’s cold.”

Changmin bites his lip and doesn’t look at him, telling himself it’s a nightmare, Yunho isn’t real, and all of this is going to be gone in the morning.

He can practically hear Yunho pouting.

Changmin groans, throwing the blankets off of himself. “Fine,” he hisses, getting out of bed and padding across the floor towards his dresser. He tugs open the first drawer, grabs a pair of pajama bottoms, and hurls them into the center of Yunho’s chest.

The boy catches them with an audible oof, mouth dropping open, and Changmin thinks briefly that he’s actually kind of cute, before he remembers himself, and flushes, and stomps back to his bed. “Now be quiet,” Changmin hisses. “I’m sleeping.”

He gets under the covers, fluffs his pillow, and shuts his eyes.

He lasts three more seconds.

“What are you _doing_?” Changmin shouts, not even trying to whisper anymore, and then pauses with his mouth open at the sight of Yunho with one leg of the pajama bottoms over the top of his head.

“I--” Yunho starts to say, but before he can finish, the house stirs, a light goes on, and Changmin lets out all the curses he was saving for the next time he met with his friends.

“Shit,” he says, with a little giddy shudder, and pulls the covers back, heart pounding. “Shit. Come here. Hide. Quick.” He gestures, heart racing, and Yunho stumbles across the floor but climbs into Changmin’s bed anyway. “Don’t. Move.” Changmin hisses, enunciating the command clearly, and then drags the comforter up over Yunho’s head, breathes deeply, and shuts his eyes.

His dad’s the one sent to check in on him, but obviously his mom’s come along too, since Changmin only hears half of the hushed conversation, which culminates in his mom hushing his dad extensively and mumbling something about how they’re going tomorrow because “Changminnie is excited and I want to see Boa, Honey, end of story.”

Changmin’s bedroom door clicks shut behind the two of them and only then does Changmin breathe.

And becomes intimately aware of the fact that Yunho is still naked and also pressed against _every inch of Changmin’s body_.

Something like nervous laughter starts bubbling up in the pit of Changmin’s belly.

He taps it down barely. “Okay,” he says. “They’re gone now. You can come out.”

Yunho emerges from the blankets until his head is resting on the pillow next to Changmin, and blinks a few times.

They’re still pressed together.

Changmin gulps. “Um. Byul… ssi?”

“Yunho,” Yunho corrects, easily enough.

“Right.” Changmin’s starting to worry for his own mental health. “Those are for your legs.” He points down somewhere in the vague direction of Yunho’s legs and then very gently reaches up and tugs the pajama bottoms off his head.

Yunho’s hair puffs out behind him in a shower of static, and Changmin goes a little cross eyed.

“Why have you got hair?” he blurts, to distract from Yunho struggling to pull the bottoms on. A quick glance before he can help himself shows that at least Yunho’s figured that much out. Which is good. Changmin was worried he was going to go _even more_ insane. “Since when have stars got hair?”

“Changmin.” Yunho seems to have picked up on his parent’s use of his name. “This entire body--” He pauses, biting at his lip, which Changmin notes is rather full. “Not mine,” he decides. “Humans have hair.”

“No, but long hair,” continues Changmin unabashed, because why not? He’s dreaming anyway, the least he can do is let his filter off the hook. “Why have you got long hair?”

Yunho blinks a few times, thinking that over. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, and then, seemingly to brighten, “I think it’s because _you_ like it--”

“Okay!” Well, shit, Changmin’s gone and raised his voice again, great. “Never mind!” He’s still raising his voice, but it’s fine, he’ll stop momentarily. “Let’s move on.”

Yunho frowns at him, looking like he’s going to say something, and then thinks better of it.

Changmin feels something in him relax. “Thanks,” he whispers, not really sure what.

“You’re welcome, Changmin,” whispers back Yunho. “Now. What were you wishing?”

Changmin feels his cheeks heat despite himself. “Hell,” he swears, forgetting himself. “You heard that?”

Yunho nods at him, innocent and not at all judging. “Of course,” he says. “Changmin. I’m _your_ star.”

Changmin feels a little faint, but to be fair, this is a lot of information for this late at night. He licks at his lips a few times. “Right.” He gives himself a moment. “Okay.”

Yunho keeps staring back at him, eyes imploring. He’s started to glow again.

Changmin feels nervous laughter bubble up again. He holds it down with all the skill he can muster.

“But what were you wishing for, Changmin?” Yunho says again, and this time he sounds a touch desperate.

That eases something in Changmin’s chest, because that’s tangible. That’s human. That’s enough to snap him out of his death spiral of maybe this is actually _real_ and not a dream. Nightmare. It was a nightmare before, Changmin was pretty sure. He’s not enjoying this experience.

Not even a little bit.

“I was wishing that my audition with SM would go well,” he explains.

“SM?” Yunho says, brow furrowing. “Like. Sadomasochism?”

Changmin feels heat bloom across his cheeks and he slaps a hand across Yunho’s mouth before he can help himself. “Like the _entertainment company_ ,” he hisses. “Like, Boa-noona. And H.O.T.”

Yunho blinks back at him, confused.

Changmin pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, which given that Yunho seems to have his own internal light source, could potentially happen.

Maybe.

“They’re famous singers,” he explains to Yunho. “I have an audition to become a famous singer.”

“You want to be a famous singer?” says Yunho, and he actually sounds excited now. “Oh, Changmin, that’s such a nice wish--”

“No, I.” Changmin swallows, throat dry. “I don’t--I--” He clenches his hands into fists and sits up, not meeting Yunho’s eyes. “I don’t, is the problem.”

Yunho sits up with him, concerned. He takes Changmin’s hands in his own, slowly uncurling them until some of the tension in Changmin’s chest has lessened. “What do you mean?”

“My mom’s making me go,” Changmin blurts, feeling ugly and nervous and like a child again. “She wants to meet Boa-noona.”

Yunho takes that all in, looking serious.

“I don’t even know how to _dance_ ,” Changmin continues. “Can you imagine a singer who doesn’t know how to dance?”

“Dance?” Yunho’s head tilts to the side.

“It’s like.” Changmin fumbles in the dark for his bedside lamp, shooting the wall separating his sister’s room from his with a worried glance, before turning it on. “That.” He points up at the SHINHWA poster adorning his wall, and then sighs. “Well. You can’t really tell from that.”

“Shinhwa,” Yunho says. “Are they singers?”

“Yeah.” Changmin flops back on the bed and stares up at the poster, heart doing funny things. “Shinhwa-sunbaenims are _legends_.”

“Legends,” Yunho repeats, settling down next to Changmin. The lamp goes out. “You don’t need that,” he says, when Changmin startles, and very carefully lifts up his left hand.

He’s glowing again, but this time just from the fingertips.

It takes Changmin’s breath away, and for a moment he forgets he’s supposed to be looking at his Shinhwa poster, and not admiring the length of Yunho’s bare arm.

And then reality rears its ugly head in the shape of shame, pervasive and spreading out from the pit of Changmin’s stomach.

“I’m never going to be as good as Shinhwa-sunbaenims,” says Changmin. “I’m probably going to fail the audition.”

Yunho’s hands go out abruptly, but Changmin almost doesn’t notice, because all of a sudden most of him is lit up, and he’s gripping Changmin’s hands and leaning over him on the bed with wild, wild eyes.

“Changmin,” he says, voice booming even though it’s whispering. “Changmin, no, you’re going to _ace_ the audition. You’re going to be a _star_ \--” And then he breaks off, looking confused, and goes out in one great gust.

Changmin is left dizzy and half blind, ears ringing. “Um,” he says. “Yunho?”

There’s silence, and then a tiny noise of acknowledgement from somewhere to his left.

“What just happened?”

“Go to sleep, Changdol,” Yunho says, and Changmin can hardly hear. “You’ve got a really important moment ahead of you.”

“But what did you _mean_?” Changmin starts to say, but all of a sudden he’s exhausted, and sleep sounds amazing, and before he knows it, his eyes are closing and he’s trudging off to dreamland.

\--

In the morning, Yunho is gone, and for a moment, Changmin is worried. But then he shakes himself, climbs out of bed, goes in search of his best clothing, tries to get his hair to look less like it doesn’t know how to do anything beyond cover his too-big ears, and passes the whole surreal experience off as a dream.

Because really, a _falling star_? Who was a boy? From _Jeolla-do_?

Obviously Changmin’s going to have to stop staying up past midnight reading manhwas. Obviously it gives him weird nightmares. Besides, he’s too nervous and too worked up for more than a rushed breakfast and a quick kiss from his slightly disapproving father, and then he and his mother are off to SM Entertainment.

The audition goes about as smoothly as Changmin was hoping for: he gets herded into a room with a bunch of men in suits and several cameras, very bright lights, mirrors, and hard wood floors.

He gets told to sing.

He gets told to dance.

Changmin sings.

Changmin does the army clap.

The men write things down on clipboards and purse their lips.

And then, remarkably, they smile.

Changmin leaves with his mother in a daze, head spinning, feeling very much like he’s still dreaming.

“Baby?” His mother sounds concerned. “Are you alright? You’ve just sort of been smiling the whole way.”

Changmin startles, notes he _is_ smiling, but doesn’t really feel like saying much of anything. “I’m just…happy,” he decides, and then, when his mother tilts her head at him, smiles for real this time, eyes going crooked and cheeks pulling a little. “I’m glad you made me come.”

His mother smiles and brushes some of his hair out of his eyes, making him feel like a kid again. She pinches one of his ears.

Changmin scowls, flushing, and bats her hand away half-heartedly.

“We didn’t get to see Boa, though,” says his mother.

“Maybe Boa and I will be friends,” says Changmin, still scowling.

“Boa-noona,” corrects his mother. “And maybe.”

Changmin preens a little, and darts ahead. “You’ll see,” he says, more to himself than anything. “Can we go out to celebrate?”

His mother smiles at him, an odd look on her face, and then nods. “Of course.”

It’s all Changmin can do not to skip the whole way home.

\--

SM as a trainee--an actual real life could one day debut and be famous _trainee_ \--is drastically different from SM as a tourist being dragged along behind your mother.

The building is the same--long corridors, bright lights, clean lines--but now it has history. Now it has meaning. Changmin learns where he’ll be eating, gets a tour of the rehearsal areas, gets introduced to more new faces than he’d dreamed of, and then gets packed off into a room with ten other foreign faces for dance practice and vocal training and whatever else SM deigns necessary for them.

He feels abruptly out of place, like his ears are sticking way too far out of his head like _pick on me!_ beacons, and when he sees the groups of boys dancing more than just the army clap, he feels like he doesn’t belong.

No one is horrible to him--in fact,some of them even smile at him--and Changmin ends up standing next to a boy named Lee Hyukjae (“Like the comedian, so I’m going to have to change it”). Hyukjae-hyung has been a trainee for only a year, but he’s also best friends with Kim Junsu, who Changmin finds out has been a trainee since 1999.

“We auditioned together but I didn’t get in,” Hyukjae-hyung explains, doing some sort of complicated stretches that make Changmin’s head spin. “But we’ve been in school together for ages, so I don’t have to call him Hyung.” He darts Changmin a look. “You have to call him Hyung.”

Changmin bows automatically, feeling very small. “What are we waiting for?” he says, glancing around the room at boys, all in various states of stretching and warming up.

“We’re waiting for Hyung,” says Hyukjae-hyung, standing up. He’s taller than Changmin, and has a wide, gummy smile.

Changmin feels an answering smile bloom in the corners of his mouth.

“Who’s Hyung?” he says, around the same time the doors blow open and a group of older looking boys breeze in.

The loudest one--Kim Heechul, Hyukjae-hyung whispers to Changmin--is the prettiest of them all, and Changmin very quickly finds out that he’s done some acting before signing with SM. The eldest one is Park Jungsoo, and he smiles at Changmin.

But the third one is the one that takes Changmin’s breath away, because the third one is--

“Yunho!” Changmin cries before he can stop himself, pointing at the other boy and leaving Hyukjae-hyung gaping behind him. “You weren’t a dream!”

There’s a beat.

The other boys whisper amongst themselves.

Changmin starts to feel nervous.

Yunho’s face is unreadable. Now that Changmin looks at him, he looks different. Less otherworldly, hair still a little long but uneven at the edges. Like he’s due for a trim, and not like he’s never seen scissors before in his life. He has scars, blemished skin, and stands before Changmin in worn out sweats and a t-shirt, looking very much at home in the SM practice rooms, and nothing like the boy from Changmin’s bedroom.

_Oh no._

“Yunho-yah,” Heechul-hyung says, in a fake whisper. “Do you know him?”

The boy--Yunho-hyung, because he _is_ Yunho-hyung, even though he’s _not_ Yunho--just shakes his head.

“Huh.” Heechul-hyung blows air out at his bangs, which are long and soft looking. “Hey new kid,” he says. “Who taught you manners?”

Changmin flushes to what feels like the roots of his hair, horribly unsettled. Maybe it _was_ a dream. Maybe he’s ruined _everything_. He bows, because contrary to Heechul-hyung’s comments he _does_ have manners, and gets his name out in shuddering whispery tones.

“What’s that?”

Changmin rethinks what he’d said about Heechul-hyung being pretty.

“Speak up.”

“My name is Shim Changmin,” repeats Changmin, voice loud in the suddenly quiet practice room. “I was born in 1988.” He swallows, bows lower. “Please take care of me.”

He waits far longer than pride would normally allow, until Heechul-hyung and Jungsoo-hyung and hopefully Yunho- _hyung_ have moved off to join the rest of the group, whispering too loudly amongst themselves.

“Shim Changmin,” Heechul-hyung says, clearly not having moved. “I heard about you. Didn’t they scout you off the streets?”

It’s a question, but Changmin feels like it’s rhetorical, so he doesn’t answer. He’s not sure if he should lift his head.

“Well?” Heechul-hyung’s voice is almost rude.

Changmin finally stands, knowing his face his flaming, and manages to meet Heechul-hyung’s eyes. The older boy stares back at him, one brow raised, with his too pretty-mouth turned up in an ugly little smirk.

Changmin’s words fail him.

Heechul-hyung smirks harder.

Changmin’s stomach turns in worried little knots.

“Heechul-ah,” Jungsoo-hyung says, voice more subdued.

“Whatever.” Heechul-hyung rolls his eyes at Jungsoo-hyung, sounding bored already, and then turns back to Changmin.  “Do you even want this?”

“Heechul-ah,” Jungsoo-hyung interjects, voice more emphatic this time.

Changmin flinches despite himself, head darting between the two of them.

“Whatever,” Heechul-hyung says again. He finally walks away, footsteps loud against the hush of the practice room, and Jungsoo-hyung shoots Changmin an apologetic and tiny smile, but goes with him regardless.

Only Yunho-hyung remains, silent, face angular, eyes incomprehensible, and brows pulled down.

“Shim Changmin,” he says.

Changmin dips back down, heart pounding, mind a mess, because he even _sounds_ the same, even though his teeth aren’t perfect and his skin isn’t glowing and he’s looking at Changmin like Changmin’s the ground he walks on.

“If you’re going to quit, you should just do it now,” says Yunho-hyung finally, and then with one more terrifying glance, moves off to join his friends.

Changmin’s breath comes hissing out from between his teeth and he goes to find a spot near the mirror without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Hyukjae-hyung falls into line somewhere over by Yunho-hyung and Junsu-hyung, shooting Changmin a somewhat apologetic look.

Changmin swallows, and tries very hard not to cry.

\--

They put him in a group with Yunho-hyung.

Changmin hears the news with his hands clenched at his side, fully aware that Jaejoong-hyung and Yunho-hyung have already been through several failed groups, and fights the urge to run for the hills. He casts a curious look at Yoochun-hyung, their latest addition, who Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim explains is from America.

Yoochun-hyung looks distinctly uncomfortable with this information, but Changmin is more concerned with the set of Yunho-hyung’s perfect jaw, and the shift of his weight.

They haven’t fought since their less than perfect introduction, but Changmin’s met plenty of other trainees born in 1988, and none of them have anything but praise for Jung Yunho, who Changmin has since found out is actually from Gwangju, Jeollla-do, has won several dancing competitions, and traveled to Seoul without his parent’s consent and was homeless for the first few months.

He finds all this out and is no less confused, no less worried about his own sanity, because there are still moments where he looks at Yunho-hyung and expects to see glowing and long hair--expects to see maybe _recognition_ in those eyes, but all he gets is crossed arms and the occasional compliment.

It’s confusing and harrowing and the newness of it all makes Changmin’s skin itch more often than not.

At least his parents are supportive of everything, but Changmin doesn’t want to worry them and call home all the time.

Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim has several titles in mind for this group, and Changmin thinks briefly that maybe they shouldn’t be named after bodily organs, but doesn’t really feel like he has any right to speak about it.

Yunho-hyung is their leader, and even though Jaejoong-hyung is the eldest, technically, no one seems surprised by this. Even Junsu-hyung, who’s been with SM the longest, seems to grudgingly acknowledge that Yunho-hyung is best suited for it.

Especially when he names himself, after Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim has decided on Dong Bang Shin Ki for their group name.

“U-Know Yunho,” he says, and goes on to explain something about how a leader should be known.

At his side, Junsu-hyung not so subtly points out that that’s just Yunho-hyung’s _game ID_ , but Yunho-hyung ignores him, meeting Lee Sooman-seonsaengmin’s eyes head on, and expression serious.

“I like it,” says Jaejoong-hyung, after Yunho-hyung’s finished. “I think it sounds nice.”

“It sounds nice because it’s a bad English pun,” says one of the men in suits with them, but Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim silences the office with a raised hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he decides, after a pause. “For now, you’re dismissed. Call your parents. I’m expecting you to be back here with signed contracts as soon as possible.” He smiles a little, but it’s an odd smile, and Changmin doesn’t really know what to feel. “I’ll have the keys for you then.” He smiles a real smile now. “You’re moving into a dorm, Dong Bang Shin Ki.”

Changmin feels the name go through him like lightning.

At his side, he swears Yunho is glowing.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRESENTING NAT'S FAVORITE FORMATING NIGHTMARE. Please retweet/reblog/say hi!!!!
> 
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> 
> COMMENTS ARE LOVELY SEE YOU ALL NEXT WEEK.


	2. wish two: for friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has decided it wants to be long and obnoxious but I finally had a breakthrough on chapter 5 so the schedule is kept to! Wooo!
> 
> Betaed by Debs and Aixing, who are STARS. Pun intended but also not really OR MAYBE REALLY. All other mistakes are my own.

 

**wish two: for friends**

\--

It’s weird after they debut.

They have schedules every other day, spend more time in rehearsal studios and recording booths and recording studios than at home in their brand new dorm, and more often than not they’re simply too tired for more than a meal together before heading back to their rooms to crash. But it’s good, Changmin thinks.

Kind of.

The hyungs are good, at least. They’re all really good singers, but only some of them can dance decently, only Changmin is far too polite and knows far better than to mention any of that. He sticks to Yunho-hyung like glue, because debuting seems to have tempered the older boy quite a bit, and it turns out they have more in common than Changmin had thought. They’re both the eldest in their families, they’re both the only sons, and they’re both the most dedicated to the group. Well. Changmin supposes Junsu-hyung is too, but it’s different with Junsu-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung and Yoochun-hyung. They’re all older than him, and while Yoochun-hyung is his junior company wise, out in the real world, on stage in front of the nation, that doesn’t matter.

They make Changmin feel like a baby, mostly.

It’s kind of hard.

Yunho-hyung blooms as the leader. Changmin thinks, briefly, that it’s weird that they chose him and not Jaejoong-hyung, since Jaejoong-hyung is the oldest. Only by a month, but enough so that Yunho-hyung still calls him “Hyung” and speaks formally. But while Jaejoong-hyung is the only one who seems capable of feeding himself, Changmin very quickly finds out that Jaejoong-hyung is much more suited to long notes and extra hours in dance studios than he is to leading them. They become closer that way, on the receiving end of Yunho-hyung’s disapproval.

Because Yunho-hyung, Changmin discovers, while much less of a terrifying disciplinarian when you know he sleeps with his mouth open, is still something of a hardass.

“Ha,” says Heechul-hyung, when Changmin gets coerced into telling him so one morning in the company cafeteria. “I could have told you that.”

Changmin still isn’t sure what he thinks about Heechul-hyung, but he seems close to Yunho-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung, and so more often than not they all end up seated at a table together sharing a meal.

TVXQ is on a rare day off, only they have dance practice and vocal lessons and Japanese lessons, since Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim wants them to start working on the Japanese market. Because Boa-noona had done it, he’d said. And he thought they were ready.

Changmin had been dubious, but the man hadn’t steered them wrong, nor had he actually wanted any of their opinions.

“Hey,” Yunho-hyung protests, snapping Changmin’s attention back to the conversation at hand. “I’m not a hardass.”

“Technically Changminnie didn’t say that,” points out Jaejoong-hyung, picking up a piece of meat with delicate and certain fingers.

Changmin stares at the state of him, grits his teeth, and tries not to think too hard about the consultations they’d all had earlier that month. New teeth for Yunho-hyung, eventually, new eyes and jaw for Jaejoong-hyung, and a new nose for Changmin. But not now. Not when they were just starting out.

Not when they weren’t worth the investment, Changmin had thought, and still thinks, but never feels safe enough to voice. He’s the baby, after all.

“Technically Changminnie didn’t say anything,” points out Yunho-hyung, voice low and almost scolding.

Jaejoong-hyung meets his eyes and shrugs.

Changmin wishes he was older.

Heechul-hyung snorts, and thieves food off of Jaejoong-hyung’s plate. “That’s just cause Yunho’s a hardass,” he says. “And Changminnie’s afraid of him.”

The entire table turns to face Changmin, even Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung, who until now been discussing video games with Hyukjae-hyung, and Changmin feels his ears go bright damn red.

They’ve been growing his hair out slowly so he has some coverage, but Changmin knows everyone can see.

He refuses to glance down at his plate.

Yunho-hyung’s expression is odd. He says, “Changmin’s not afraid of me,” and the table seems to accept that.

Changmin wants to laugh, because he’s not so sure.

\--

Practice goes about as well as it has been going, Changmin thinks. He’s exhausted by the halfway mark, but not at all ready for it to be over, because he knows right after it’s the vocal booth and then language lessons and then home for a few precarious hours of sleeping before they do it all over again.

Changmin watches Yunho-hyung for most of it, watches the lines of his body, how he moves in front of a non-existent audience, to the point where Jaejoong-hyung, wandering by guzzling dramatically from a water bottle, shoves into him so that Changmin almost stumbles.

He looks immediately apologetic afterwards, hands out like he wants to catch Changmin, but Changmin feels resentment bristle deep inside himself, and he has to grit his teeth hard to keep it from seeping out at his corners.

He should love his hyungs. He should want to be with them always.

“Sorry, Changmin-ah,” says Jaejoong-hyung, and he does look it, but Changmin just replants his feet and stares angrily at himself in the mirror.

He supposes he’s pretty enough. He guesses. Though his ears do stick out quite a lot and he’s not sure if he’s _ever_ going to grow into himself. It’s not like he’s that much younger than the rest of them, but Yunho-hyung and Junsu-hyung have muscles from all the dancing, and even Yoochun-hyung has started to bulk up slightly. Changmin glowers in the mirror, wondering if he’s ever going to stop being a whisper.

Jaejoong-hyung is still watching him, head tilted to one side.

Changmin flushes a little, and bows. “It’s fine,” he says. Whispers. Well. Shit.

Jaejoong-hyung blinks at him, and then without glancing, shouts, “Yunho!”

Yunho-hyung’s head comes up from where he was gathered around a monitor staring at the choreography for their latest single.

Changmin thinks of perked ears and wagging tails and feels something ugly settle into the pit of his stomach at how it’s Jaejoong-hyung that gets that reaction.

And then he blinks, mildly taken aback by the rather severe turn of feelings.

“Um,” says Changmin, like an idiot, and feeling shy all of a sudden again. He bows again to save face.

“Yes, Jaejoong-hyung?” says Yunho-hyung, but Changmin can tell that he’s still watching him with one eye.  He does that sometimes, and it always leaves Changmin unsettled and feeling like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“Can we take a break?” asks Jaejoong-hyung.

Yoochun-hyung and Junsu-hyung perk up immediately, brightening wonderfully at the prospect of a respite, only, before Yunho-hyung can respond, they’re rejoined by their managers and choreographer, having a hushed but serious conversation on their way back through the doors.

“--it’s fine. We can just add more dancers, or put them in the back,” one of them is saying, and Changmin feels his muscles lock up in preparation once more.

Yunho-hyung is still looking at him, but Changmin ignores him. They need to be perfect by the time they fly to Japan.

\--

Not many people come to see them in Japan. Changmin shouldn’t let it get to him, since it’s not like they’re _that_ big of a deal in Korea, but to go from thousands of fans to barely a hundred on a good day is jarring. Not to mention the language barrier, the homesickness, and the foreignness of the entire experience.

Everything is foreign. The apartment, the cars, the staff--though they have some SM managers with them for ease of translation and, probably, control--the songs, the stages, and most importantly, the fans.

Changmin doesn’t know what to do with Japanese fans half the time. They’re eerily quiet and respectful during their stages, which he thinks he should feel pleased with, but the entire experience just feels even more unsettling.

The homesickness is the worst, though, which is probably why Changmin ends up in the middle of their apartment, alone, at three in the morning, glaring at his phone, knowing he should be sleeping, and kneeling on the floor staring up at the ceiling.

He can’t see any stars from the floor.

“Good,” he says to himself, and then scowls even harder. It came out Japanese. “Good,” Changmin says again, in Korean, and then a few more times. “Fuck,” he settles on, still in Korean. “Fuck.” He glances at the bedrooms, at the rooms for their Japanese staff, and at the tiny balcony attached to their apartment. It’s fancy. Beyond them. A luxury.

Probably if Changmin goes outside he’ll freeze to death and see zero stars. Because they’re in Tokyo and the light pollution alone could power a solar system.

Changmin grits his teeth some more. “Shim,” he tells himself, voice raspy and foreign to his ears, and isn’t that damn great. Even he sounds _foreign_. “You are not going to go out on the porch and make another dumb wish on a nonexistent wishing star.”

Changmin goes out on the porch and makes another dumb wish on a nonexistent wishing star.

“This is dumb,” Changmin says helpfully, after a few minutes. “Fuck.”

The door opens.

Changmin jumps.

“Changdol?” it’s Yunho-hyung, calling him cutely, and Changmin feels heat seep up the back of his neck before he can help himself.

The older boy is wearing sweatpants, hung low on slim hips, and a sleep shirt so threadbare it really leaves nothing to imagination. He’s too tired to be self-conscious, rubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand, and yawning loudly.

Changmin should probably get off his knees. “Hyung!” he squeaks.

Yunho-hyung stops yawning, plods close with bare feet, and finally seems to wake up enough to be cold.

His nipples are twin peaks in the fabric.

Changmin, just past sixteen, can’t help but stare.

Yunho-hyung drops both hands over his chest, cheeks reddening. “Changmin!” he hisses, scolding. He doesn’t sound like he means it.

Changmin tries out a smirk. “Yunho-hyung,” he replies. The honorific feels like home.

Yunho-hyung sighs, but seems to come to a decision. He drops to a crouch next to Changmin, still shivering a little, still clutching both arms across his chest--and hugging his own biceps now--but also blinking down at Changmin with worried brown eyes.

His skin looks odd, in the Tokyo streetlights. Changmin chalks it up to the air pollution.

The alternative is terrifying.

“Changdol,” Yunho-hyung says again, the unfortunate pet name having stuck. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Changmin replies smartly, like it looks like anything other than him kneeling in the middle of their balcony at three in the morning. They can’t even see off it at this angle--concrete all around the edges, a sad looking plant in one corner, and no stars twinkling above.

“Um.” Yunho-hyung looks confused. “Is it supposed to look like something?”

“If you must know, I was making a wish,” Changmin snaps, and his tone is too disrespectful for their age difference and he regrets it instantly.

Yunho-hyung just keeps staring down at him, eyes concerned. “A wish?”

Changmin feels warmth settle into his cheeks and drops his hands down onto his thighs. He grips at the fabric of his own pajama pants, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I--I wished on a star the night before my audition,” he admits, and, with a shrug of his shoulders. He’s not going to look at Yunho-hyung’s eyes. It’s three a.m.. He’s about two seconds from confessing that he also had an extremely vivid dream about said Star, and how that Star had long hair, glowed, and spoke like he was from Jeolla-do.

And was called Yunho.

“Oh.” Yunho-hyung’s voice is doing that weird unreadable thing again and Changmin looks up at him before he can stop himself.

The older boy stares back at him with naked concern etched in every line on his face.

Changmin feels warmth bloom right in the center of his chest. For a moment, he entertains confessing everything: _I was wishing on a star that you’d_ like me _, Hyung, because you don’t like me. It feels like no one likes me. I’m just the baby. I’m cute. They made me_ kiss _a cat._ But then he thinks better of it, thinks of the teasing, of how Yunho-hyung’s never been good at keeping secrets from Jaejoong-hyung and the others, because they’re a family now, and secrets ruin families, shut _up_ , Junsu, I told you that in confidence because we were _living together_ don’t make me call Junho for dirt on you.

It’s better if Changmin takes that wish to his damn grave. And hey, he got a boy named Yunho wearing very limited clothing for this wish as well, but this boy is real--has a family, has friends, and dreams, and is also a dancing tyrant and is no doubt going to drive Changmin extra hard tomorrow morning because they’ve got practice.

“Anyway, sorry for waking you--I know we have schedules in the morning,” Changmin rushes out, bows his head, manages to unlock his frozen limbs, and goes stumbling back into the apartment and off towards his room.

He looks back over his shoulder once, because he has a death wish, apparently, and he finds Yunho-hyung much how Changmin thinks he was--kneeling, staring up at the sky, and still as a statue.

Changmin blinks, suddenly exhausted, and turns before he can see the faint glow at Yunho’s fingertips.

\--

They perform at A-Nation. It goes… poorly. Not that the performance is lacking, because that’s impossible. Yunho-hyung’s too strict--and even though they’ve made a game of who’s going to mention it on variety shows, Changmin knows deep down the rest of them want it as bad as he does, so of course the performance is amazing. But they’ve only been in Japan for a few months, and their fanclub--Bigeast, officially--isn’t large, it’s still daytime, and so Changmin comes off stage feeling a little worn down because of how many people he caught leaving in the middle of their set for the bathroom.

“We’ll be better next year,” says Yunho-hyung, with a serious hard line to his brow.

“Don’t you mean ‘it’ll be better next year’?” grumbles Jaejoong-hyung, a step behind him pressed in close to Yoochun-hyung.

Junsu-hyung’s a step behind Changmin, fingers still half in the dance.

“No.” Yunho-hyung’s head tilts and he looks almost confused, before his cheeks color rather suddenly. “I mean, uh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” Yoochun-hyung sounds entirely dubious.

“I think he meant both,” pipes up Changmin, nervous energy rocking through him to mix with the adrenaline and stage high.

Yunho-hyung shoots him an odd, thankful look. “Thanks, Changdol,” he says.

Changmin feels himself flush and works up the courage to pass Yoochun-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung to stand next to him.

“Changdol,” he hears Jaejoong-hyung say with only half an ear, because Yunho-hyung’s draped an arm around him, even though management is around and probably frowning, since they’re the nobody couple that none of their fans care about. “Since when do you call him Changdol?”

“Since now,” says Yunho-hyung, twisting a little to look over his shoulder at the two of them.

Changmin grins, not entirely sure what to do with all this affection, and tucks himself more solidly into Yunho-hyung’s side. He’s warm, as expected--and as Changmin knows, because while there’s always been some residual tension over their less than stellar meeting, it’s not like they hate each other. Although, and Changmin frowns a little, thinking on this, he did spend a few minutes wishing the older boy would _like him_ , like some sort of pining teenage girl.

Yunho-hyung likes him fine. They even snuggle backstage.

It’s just. Yunho-hyung is such an enigma. Changmin doesn’t know what to do with himself half the time it’s just the two of them. Luckily, it’s never just the two of them.

Because that’s not what the fans want.

Changmin can tell he’s frowning, and that everyone’s noticed.

They’ve been collected by their staff now, set upon by managers and stylists and cordis inspecting the damage done to their costumes and listing off schedules and flights they’re due for.

Changmin is thankful, because it means that he has an excuse from shifting out of the comfort of Yunho-hyung’s arms, and he doesn’t have to look at the rather knowing and ugly look on Jaejoong-hyung’s face.

\--

In December, SM gets a new trainee.

“He’s your age,” Yunho-hyung says casually, over breakfast.

Changmin’s sitting across from him, already finished, watching to make sure he eats the whole thing. The past month has been particularly brutal for all of them, but Yunho-hyung most of all, and he’s in and out of the hospital so often that Changmin’s started to feel sick just watching him head off for the car. Since he’d passed out the day before their flight to Japan, the managers have been slightly more reticent and overcontrolling, but Changmin has taken to sitting with Yunho well after the others have dispersed for as much sleep as possible to make sure their leader is at least eating.

He thinks Yunho-hyung knows, but at least the older boy is nice enough not to say anything about it.

That doesn’t mean the rest of them aren’t; Changmin’s starting to get tired of all the teasing. He and Yunho-hyung aren’t even an official pairing. They’re cut out of variety shows more often than not.

Yunho-hyung is still staring at him, mouth quirking.

Changmin tilts his head to the side and hums in acknowledgment.

“I met him the other day. He seemed really shocked,” finishes Yunho-hyung, and turns back to his food.

Changmin mulls that over. He has of course hung out with trainees his age, although more so in the early days before he’d debuted, and more so to find out if Yunho-hyung was making their lives living hell as well. But it’s hard to keep at school and be an idol. Changmin feels like he’s missing out on so many things.

“Oh,” he says, very quietly, because it’s clear Yunho-hyung is expecting some sort of response. “Was he nice--?”

“Did you bow until your head touched the ground again?” interjects Junsu-hyung, having overheard as he was wandering by with an empty glass. He sets the thing in the sink with a porcelain clink.

Changmin eyes it, wondering if he’s going to get stuck on dish duty by virtue of being the baby.

Yunho-hyung ignores this exchange, flexes his shoulders, and pulls out his phone. “You should wash that,” he says.

Junsu-hyung fake pouts.

Changmin sticks his tongue out at him.

Junsu-hyung fake snarls.

Changmin not so fake shifts himself further into Yunho-hyung’s orbit.

Junsu-hyung looks taken aback, for a quick second.

“They’re looking at him for Super Junior 06,” Yunho-hyung continues.

Changmin is close enough now that he can see over his shoulder and get an eyeful of their schedule, and he groans. Utterly jampacked with end of year performances and celebrations.  

Yunho-hyung’s eyes flit to him briefly, but Junsu-hyung finishes with the glass.

“But did you bow until your head touched the ground again?” he repeats, and dodges the thwack Yunho-hyung gets up to deliver to the back of his skull.

“I did not,” he protests. “Now go get the others; we have to go over the schedule.”

“Yes, O Leader-nim,” grumbles Junsu-hyung, and winks.

Changmin stares back, startled, with a smile blooming across his face.

He waits for Yunho-hyung to scold them, but nothing comes. Instead, Yunho-hyung just smirks, and goes back to their schedule.

Huh, Changmin thinks.

\--

“Psst,” says a voice. “You’re Changmin, right?”

“Changmin-ssi,” Changmin corrects automatically, and then pauses, blinking. He’s alone at SM--there for costume fittings and some vocal training and then meeting up with the rest of them to go into rehearsals for their upcoming tour--and there’s a boy standing in front of him looking a little bit pale.

“I’m Cho Kyuhyun,” the boy says. “I--I think we’re the same year?”

Changmin blinks. “You’re the one they want to put in Super Junior 06?” he says, half a question, half not. “The one who Yunho-hyung met the other day.

The boy--Kyuhyun-ssi--looks starstruck for a moment, and Changmin feels something in his chest unfurl and purr.

“Yeah,” Kyuhyun says. “He _bowed_ to me.”

Changmin lifts his nose in the air. “He does that,” he says. “He’s going through a phase.” And he goes to walk off, done with the conversation and pleased to have finally found someone the same year as him _and_ his junior--when the rest of his group arrives to the hallway with rambunctious energy.

“Who’s going through a phase?” says Jaejoong-hyung, reaching the two of them and pulling Changmin into the group huddle without pausing. He’s started doing more of that, since Changmin’s started to grow himself into more than just cute. Junsu-hyung is much more suited to being cute, Changmin thinks on nice days, and idiotic, Changmin thinks on bad days. Changmin wishes he’d be seen as more than just snark, but the fans seem to respond to it well, and their managers have started to look at him for longer than a few seconds when prepping them for variety shows.

“Kyuhyun-ah,” Yunho-hyung says, wrapped as he is around the other side of Jaejoong-hyung. “Are you here for practice?”

“Ah, yes,” Kyuhyun says, bowing quickly, looking less starstruck, now, and slightly more considering.

“Mmm.” Jaejoong-hyung gives him a cursory once over, and then flips his attention back to Changmin. “Now. What phase?”

“Yunho-hyung,” Changmin tries out, buoyed by the newfound attention. “Is going through a phase where he bows until his head touches the ground.” He shoots Junsu-hyung a look on that last bit, and grins when that gets him an answering laugh.

“Hey.” Yunho-hyung bows again briefly to Kyuhyun--with just his head this time--and starts to steer the five of them towards the practice rooms. “I liked you better when you were nicer to me.”

“You mean when all I said was ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’,” Changmin says, still a little high.

There’s a brief lull, but then Yunho-hyung smiles, and reaches out to ruffle Changmin’s hair.

“Hey!” Changmin protests, finally twisting himself free of the chokehold Jaejoong-hyung still has on him.

“You’re right, Changdol,” Yunho-hyung says. “I like you better now.”

“Whatever,” Changmin says, but he can’t meet Yunho-hyung’s eyes for how hard he thinks he’s blushing.

The four of them keep walking, bemused, dragging Yunho-hyung along until he stops looking back at Changmin and starts play fighting back.

“I get it,” Kyuhyun says to him, before Changmin can follow the rest of his group. “I’m the youngest too.” He looks like he wants to say more-- _My group debuted without me, what if the fans hate me, what if they don’t accept me, what if they swap me out on the next rotation_ \--but thinks better of it.

Changmin’s lips purse, and he sticks his hand out before he can think better of it. “Gimme your phone,” he orders, tone informal and brisk.

Kyuhyun does just that, but he looks like he knows what’s up, like he’s humoring Changmin.

Changmin ignores him and flips the thing open so he can key in his number. Then he pauses. “Do you, uh. Like Starcraft?”

“ _Yes_!” says Kyuhyun, a little shrilly and with much less of the pomp and assuredness of before.

Changmin blinks at him with new eyes. “Cool,” he says. “We should hang out sometime.”

“Sure.” Kyuhyun’s back to casual. “That’d be awesome.”

“Yeah.” Changmin’s stomach does an odd little flip. It’ll be nice to hang out with someone not TVXQ for a change. And his own age. “I’ll, uh, see you.”

“Changmin-ah!” it’s Yoochun-hyung, no doubt sent to fetch him by Jaejoong-hyung.

“I’m coming!” Changmin calls back, still stuck on Kyuhyun.

They exchange tiny self-deprecating smiles.

“Hyung calls,” Changmin says, almost feeling like he’s outstayed his welcome, but Kyuhyun just smiles back at him--an open, honest smile, and Changmin spends the rest of the day feeling quite like he’s walking on air.

\--

Things start looking up, then. Their first tour, _The Rising Sun_ tour, does better than SM had hoped for, as does the album, and their hard work in Japan finally starts to pay off. The language gets easier, and Changmin stops feeling quite like he’s on eggshells with the group. It helps that since Super Junior 05 has debuted alongside them they’ve not been living in one massive shared dorm--for a time, Changmin had been convinced Jungsoo-hyung was thieving from Yunho-hyung’s savings, but he hadn’t voiced it, because it was something of a badly kept secret and it was very clear things were worse for them.

But also, their Japanese songs start doing well, to the point where they somehow ( _somehow_ ) manage to have a song used as the _ending song to One Piece_!!!

And then, startlingly, Yunho-hyung hurts his ankles.

They’re in the middle of the tour, standing on stage in Malaysia for the first time, which is, in itself, a historic moment for South Korea and Kpop as a whole, and Yunho-hyung lurches a little on a step, but moves straight on without balking.

No one notices or thinks much of it until they’re off stage at the end of it all, where Yunho-hyung winces a little and shies away from the group hugs and puppy piles.

“Yunho-hyung,” says Jaejoong-hyung, voice sharp and half dampened by the ringing in Changmin’s ears.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Yunho-hyung says, half sharply and still inching away from the group hug minus Changmin. “Just tired.”

Jaejoong-hyung hums, moving on, and Changmin tries to make something of it, but can’t.

He follows after the rest of them feeling weightless, sweat dripping down around his eyes and making everything even more blurry.

He feels weightless and weakened and dizzy all at once.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it.

They have schedules for the next few days. They fly back into Korea, they film _Dating on Earth_ for three days straight, and all through it, Yunho-hyung is normal. He limps a little in between takes, has hushed conversations with a manager-hyung that ends with the rest of them feeling worried and Yunho-hyung looking anxious, but Changmin is too busy running in and out of consultations with the plastic surgeon. Because it’s time.

They’re famous enough.

But then, the morning they fly to Japan for A-Nation, Yunho-hyung can’t walk.

He gets all the way to the airport. He gets out of bed, shouts for the rest of them to get out of bed, makes sure they all eat at least _something_ while also smiling beatifically at Changmin as he makes sure Yunho-hyung _also_ eats something. Most days the rest of them help him, having had more than enough of Yunho-hyung’s constant in and outs of the hospital and ill fated history with illness.

They’re quiet in the car, tired, not really ready to face the fans and the paparazzi, but still incredibly giddy for A-Nation.

“You ready for it to be better this time?” says Junsu-hyung jokingly, still on about Yunho-hyung’s comments last time, and maybe that’s the red flag, but Yunho-hyung just snorts and lifts a hand to give him the North American finger.

It’s all very amusing, because everyone spends three minutes laughing at him, sobering only when the car pulls up at Gimpo.

And then:

“I can’t stand,” Yunho-hyung says.

“What?” Their manager looks less than impressed.

“I can’t stand,” Yunho-hyung says again, louder this time, but his voice breaks in the middle.

Changmin hates him suddenly. Hates how he can see the pain in his eyes, the hurt in every set of his jaw and flex of his shoulders and he rears himself up to meet the eyes of their staff, who all very suddenly look panicked.

“You need to go,” one of the manager-hyungs says, gesturing at the rest of them, and Yoochun-hyung gets rather unceremoniously elected to do the walk of shame by virtue of his seat choice.

Jaejoong-hyung gets shoved out after him, then Junsu-hyung, until it’s just Changmin and Yunho-hyung, who has yet to look away from their manager’s eyes.

Changmin knows their staff loves them.

He knows this.

He still has a split second where he worries that they’re going to _break_ Yunho-hyung.

“Fuck,” their manager says finally. “Fuck. Someone’ll have to carry you.”

They have the largest staff on hand do it, after they’ve sent Changmin through with another manager-hyung and his bag, and Changmin shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at the spectacle of it--of Yunho, eyes hard, mouth a straight line, being carried through the airport.

He doesn’t perform with them for A-Nation.

Changmin aches.

\--

They sit together on the plane back, side to side with their legs knocking together because they’re still not rich enough to afford leg room, and this way at least they don’t have to bear the teasing from the rest of them. The shorter ones, Changmin thinks, rolling his eyes a little.

Yunho-hyung’s got crutches and medicine now, and heavy instructions not to overdo it or perform before he’s told for risk of never walking again, but Changmin knows him. The doctor is going to have to tell him can never _dance_ again before Yunho-hyung listens to reason.

It’s infuriating.

“Hyung?” Changmin hisses, fully aware they’ve got fans seated a few rows behind them, giggling into their phones and whispering to each other every few moments.

Yunho-hyung doesn’t do more than twitch, grunting a little to let Changmin know he’s listening.

“Why is it you take such good care of the rest of us but not yourself?” Changmin asks, still whispering.

“I’m the leader, Changdol,” Yunho-hyung says. “’s my job.”

Changmin snorts before he can help himself. “It is not,” he says. “Jungsoo-hyung doesn’t get sick all the time.”

“ _Teukie-hyung_ isn’t the leader of one of the greatest South Korean boybands,” Yunho-hyung corrects, but he sounds exhausted and his heart isn’t in it.

“I’m telling Kyuhyun you said that,” Changmin decides, even though he and the Suju maknae haven’t had time to really do more than exchange hellos and a few texts.

“Mmm.” Yunho-hyung’s definitely exhausted, either that, or the pain meds are making him sleepy.

Changmin’s lips purse. “You should take better care of yourself,” he decides.

“Sorry, Changminnie.” Yunho-hyung sounds like he can’t keep his eyes open. “I forget, sometimes.”

Changmin blinks. “Forget what?”

“How fragile I am. You are. Humans. Humans are.” Yunho-hyung sounds like he’s halfway to dreaming.

Changmin feels vaguely unsettled, and somewhat at a loss. “Um,” he says. “What?”

Yunho-hyung’s eyes are closed for sure now--Changmin checks, heart pounding--but he manages to get one open a sliver to squint at him. “What?”

Changmin stares back at him, mind blank. “How many pain meds did you take?” he decides, because that makes more sense. He sticks his hand out in between them. “How many fingers am I holding up.”

Yunho-hyung keeps looking at him. “You’re being weird, Changmin.” He sticks his own hand out to press palm to Changmin’s, fingers spread and just hint longer.

“I’m being weird,”Changmin says, interlacing the fingers before he can stop himself. Yunho-hyung certainly feels fragile, and human, and, it’s obviously the medication talking. “You’re the one talking like you’re not a human or something.”

Yunho-hyung is smiling at him now, all shy dimples and crinkles in the corners. Changmin wonders when their managers will start to whisper about them, locks his jaw and focuses on Yunho-hyung’s dark circles instead.

“You should sleep,” he says, voice firm.

“Kay.” Yunho gives Changmin’s hand one last squeeze, before reaching out a hand to pat at probably where he thinks Changmin’s head is. He gets most of Changmin’s left cheek instead. “You too, Changdol.”

Changmin stares back at him, warmth blooming behind his breastbone. “Idiot-hyung,” he says under his breath.

All he gets in return is the whisper of snores.

The others tease them mercilessly when they land, because somewhere in the air, Yunho-hyung ends up using Changmin as a pillow, and Changmin returns the favor without even a pause.

\--

Changmin forgets, then, what Yunho-hyung said on the plane. He forgets because their schedules are _not_ letting up. Group variety, individual solo variety, recording studio, music shows, tour preparation, Japanese variety, dance practices, and if they have time, eating and sleeping and then, as always, waking up to do it all over again.

They’re getting fangifts shoved in their faces constantly, getting followed around seemingly every airport in the world, and sometimes Changmin is afraid to go to sleep for fear of waking up not alone.

But there are lovely, wonderful, perfect moments too.

The five of them in a booth together at five in the morning watching videos of the sunrise over Jeju on Jaejoong-hyung’s laptop because manager-hyung stepped out to have a word with their vocal coach and told them to ‘keep themselves busy.’

“It’s 5AM,” Changmin had been tasked with saying, eyes held extra wide, mouth stuck extra out, with his hands clasped in front of him.

His puppy eyes, Jaejoong-hyung had said.

His doe eyes, Yoochun-hyung had corrected.

His _Bambi_ eyes, the two of them had decided, with gleeful, inside smiles.

“If we had to be awake anyway, we wanted to see the sunrise,” Changmin had finished, stepping on all of their toes. He’d fluttered his lashes a few times.

It’d worked.

There was the time they got trapped in the rehearsal rooms waiting for a thunderstorm to pass, giggling on the floor of one of the shiner studios that Boa-Noona got to practice in, staring up at the dimmed lights--“In case of lightning, Hyung,” Junsu-hyung had said very seriously, while Changmin nodded, and then scampered off in fits of giggles while Yunho-hyung just regarded them with amusement dancing in his eyes.

There was that time they’d all taken turns drawing ridiculous things on Yoochun-hyung’s sleeping face, and Manager-hyung pitched _such a fit_ when he saw him that Yoochun-hyung had to wear a mask that day to the airport, his skin rubbed pink underneath but clean, at least.

There was that time they made Yunho-hyung send a tit pic to that _same_ Manager-hyung.

There was the _telling off_ for said photo.

Then the _shit-fit_ Yunho-hyung threw when Kim-seonsaengnim approved the story for variety circles.

It starts to make it worth it. It starts to make Changmin feel like he has a home.

Then one day in October, when Changmin is feeling quite like they’re almost to the top of the world, Yunho-hyung gets poisoned.

They’re on a small break. Junsu-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung are over talking to the male MCs--Sukijin-hyung, most of all, with his iconic nose and his wide, welcoming smiles. Yoochun-hyung’s disappeared off to that bathroom with a Manager-hyung, and so it’s Changmin left to sit and watch the room with Yunho-hyung, who yawns.

He’s exhausted.

To be fair, they’re all exhausted from the long nights, but _Heroine 6_ isn’t a bad show. And they’re due to be filming some sort of interactive form of almost rock paper scissors once Yoochun-hyung comes back. Changmin’s starting to worry for him. Maybe he’s taking so long because he’s standing in the mirror staring at himself to assure that he’s still the only one of them who kept his natural hair color.

Jaejoong-hyung’s taken to the platinum rather well, Changmin thinks (it has, after all, been at least a month) but he’s also taken to fluffing Changmin’s hair constantly whenever he passes by.

Because according to Jaejoong-hyung, Changmin’s hair color is _much_ nicer.

And it matches Yunho-hyung’s, Changmin reminds himself, and turns his attention back to said Yunho-hyung, sitting hunched over the script looking the tiredest of them all.

His phone buzzes. It’s Kibum-hyung. Changmin smiles, pleased, and goes to respond.

“Changmin-ah!” says Jaejoong-hyung. He’s lost Junsu-hyung to Yoochun-hyung, who’s returned with Manager-hyung and a whole barrage of staff. He gestures Changmin over.

Changmin spares a quick glance to a form in the back--a girl, short, very covered up--but thinks nothing. “Yes, Hyung?” he says, when he reaches Jaejoong-hyung, who pulls him into a story about their latest _Rising Sun Tour Date_ , and that’s when it happens.

When no one is watching Yunho-hyung.

When _Changmin_ isn’t watching Yunho-hyung.

The girl gives him something.

Yunho-hyung downs it in one gulp.

Manager-hyung leaves Yoochun-hyung’s side to discuss the script with Yunho-hyung.

Yunho-hyung throws up blood.

The shooting is put on indefinite hold.

Changmin is told this in hushed, serious tones, in a separate car towards the hospital behind the ambulance holding Yunho-hyung.

“They’re calling his family,” Manager-hyung says, eyes on the road and shoulders tight. “We’ll have to notify the press once we know more.”

“Once we know more,” repeats Junsu-hyung, tone sounding dead, and for once none of the others offer any other insight.

“I don’t know if they’ll let anyone but immediate family see him,” continues Manager-hyung. “But he threw up most of it. He should be fine.”

“He was coughing up _blood_ ,” whispers Changmin, because.

 _He was_.

No one says anything to that.

\--

The doctors don’t let them see him. He’s not even awake, they say. His family hasn’t arrived.

Manager-hyung takes the news with a serious expression, and tells them to wait a moment while he goes to talk in whispers with the staff who went directly with Yunho-hyung.

“I feel like we’re newbies again,” sighs Jaejoong-hyung finally, but the underlying worry in his tone says it all.

“I should call Kibum-hyung,” Changmin decides, lips pursing, guilt settling into the pit of his stomach. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and winces at the state of it. He’d been in the middle of a conversation, in the middle of a sentence, even and although Kibum-hyung knew he was filming variety, that hadn’t stopped the older boy from sending him several messages. Not enough to be worrying, but enough that Changmin automatically feels bad.

“Hyung,” he says, when Kibum-hyung picks up. “Hi.”

“Changmin?” Kibum-hyung sounds confused. “Are you okay? Aren’t you still filming?”

“It’s been canceled.” Changmin feels like his voice is dying. “I’m.” He clears his throat. “I’m at the hospital.”

There’s a pause.

“Are you okay?” Kibum-hyung sounds worried, voice suddenly more distant, almost like he’s gotten up.

Changmin can hear the sounds of Super Junior in the background, Heechul-hyung, mostly, asking if everything’s alright.

“Yeah. I’m fine, Hyung,” Changmin says, voice still a rasp. “It’s Yunho-hyung.”

There’s another pause. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s sick, Hyung,” Changmin says, and as soon as he says it, it feels more real. “We don’t know the specifics but he drank something and started throwing up _blood_ , Hyung. It must have been an _anti-fan_.”

Changmin’s aware that he’s rambling now, jumping to conclusions and making the rest of his hyungs shoot him sharp looks, but now that he’s said it outloud it’s the only thing that makes sense. It was as much as a closed set as it could be given, them, and _given_ them, whoever it was had to have been targeting them.

Targeting Yunho-hyung.

Changmin feels like he’s the one due for a stomach pumping.

Kibum-hyung’s voice has gone rough around the edges. “Fuck,” he swears.

There’s the sound of Heechul-hyung scolding him.

“Yeah,” Changmin agrees, mind off on horrific tangents, just as their manager comes back looking tense. “Sorry, Hyung, I have to go now,” Changmin says quickly. “I’ll text you when we know more.”

“Bye, Changmin,” says Kibum-hyung, and Changmin clicks the phone shut.

Their manager stands in front of them and breathes. “He’s stable,” he says finally. “They’re pretty sure he’s just sleeping off the stress of the trauma itself, but they want to keep him overnight to make sure that everything is okay and he doesn’t have any lingering side effects.” His mouth pulls to one side. “It was super glue,” he tells them. “The girl gave him super glue.”

“We know it was a girl?” Jaejoong-hyung’s head is high, his eyes are shrewd, and Changmin feels himself fall into line behind him for the first time in a while. Like the made up family SM and Avex keep forcing them into for the fans. His stomach doesn’t even fight that for once; there’s no horrific jealousy over the fact that Jaejoong-hyung’s the mom to Yunho-hyung’s dad.

“Yunho said that much,” says Manager-hyung. “Now come on. It’s closing time soon and you four need sleep.”

Jaejoong-hyung’s mouth opens.

“We’ll reschedule filming when we know more.” He looks at him, eyes kind, but tired. “They might make you go alone.”

Changmin clenches his hands into fists at his side and Junsu-hyung makes a small noise.

None of them like going on stage without Yunho-hyung.

“Okay.” Jaejoong-hyung really seems to have defaulted to leader in lieu of their actual leader.

Changmin’s too tired to fight it, just follows Yoochun-hyung’s back down the hallway.

\--

It’s Jihye who does it.

Changmin’s half-awake by the time he’s supposed to be leaving, but he pretends to be completely tired because he is, and also, he really doesn’t want to leave Yunho-hyung.

He’s not really in the bed so much as he is draped over the bed gripping the older boy by the hand, but no one can see his face, and no matter of gentle shaking from Junsu-hyung has gotten any response, and so it’s Jihye, Yunho-hyung’s sister, who breaks the silence and says that it’s okay if Changmin stays.

Which.

Changmin doesn’t ponder over the details of why or how that works.

He just takes the gift horse by the reins and rides it off into the sunset.

The sunset that is Jung Yunho’s hospital bed, that is.

He waits until they’ve been left alone for the beep of medical monitors and the lights have been dimmed slightly before unfurling slightly, heaving a long sigh and looking down at Yunho-hyung’s face.

He’s pale, all the color leeched straight out of his skin, but what’s more worrying than all the tubes sticking out of him is the fact that his hand is utterly limp in Changmin’s own.

Changmin can’t remember a time when he sought out Yunho-hyung’s palm and didn’t get a squeeze back.

It’s wrong.

Everything about it is wrong.

Changmin feels like cursing.

Changmin feels like crying.

He gets back into the bed, properly this time, but curled right at the edge so that he doesn’t mess with the wires connecting Yunho-hyung to all the machines. He tries not to be bothered by how Yunho-hyung needs help breathing and isn’t at all bothered by all the needles. It’d be hard to, after the past three years.

Changmin  presses his nose into the crook of Yunho-hyung’s neck, closes his eyes, and sleeps.

\--

He wakes to brilliant, blinding light, and Yunho making horrible gasping noises against the breathing tube still stuck down his throat.

Changmin’s still half asleep and only working on muscle memory, but he gets the thing out of Yunho’s mouth in lighting speed, in time for him to realize that for some reason none of the machines around them seem to be sounding an alarm.

But then, given that Yunho also appears to _glowing_ , Changmin doesn’t have time to focus on that.

The light dims considerably once Yunho manages to breathe easier, but he stares at Changmin with large, panicked eyes, and what breath he seems able to manage comes in great gasps.

“Hyung!” Changmin sounds equally airy and panicked. “What?”

“Changmin!” Even Yunho’s _voice_ sounds weird. It’s almost like it’s far away or something, with more weight behind it, and it unearths a memory that Changmin had worked so hard to forget, of being pinned to the bed in his bedroom while a boy with long hair claimed to have been a falling Star.

“Yunho--Yunho-hyung,” Changmin says back, making a point to keep the honorific. Because this is Yunho-hyung. His Yunho-hyung. From Gwangju. His Yunho-hyung who never had long dark hair, who’s only ever had the spikes and the brown and now, recently, the blond.

Not any other Yunho named person.

“Changmin,” Yunho-hyung gasps out, and then goes out, for lack of a better word.

Because there’s really no other word for it. It’s like whatever had been lighting him up from the inside stopped, or something, leaving his skin pale and ashen in the hospital lighting. Which makes absolutely no sense, since people don’t _glow_ , and Changmin’s starting to worry that he should just go check himself into the hospital himself.

Yunho-hyung is still staring at him. “Why’s my throat hurt?” he says finally.

Changmin can’t even tell himself that’s what was making his voice weird.

“An anti-fan poisoned you,” Changmin hears himself manage. “But that’s not important--Hyung. _Why were you glowing_?”

Yunho-hyung blinks at him. “Changdol you’re not making any sense,” he rasps.

He glances around the room, takes in the blank walls, industrial lighting, and then the wires in his arms.

He glances at the dead machines around them, and winces.

Changmin catalogues all of this with barely controlled panic. “Hyung!” he says again, only slightly more unhinged sounding, but still well on his way to a break down. “ _Why were you glowing_!?”

Yunho-hyung stares back at him, face blank.

Finally, he sighs. “Changdol-ah,” he says, voice low and pained. “You know why.”

There’s a pun in there--two probably, if Changmin was feeling lucky and inspired and maybe even, in theory, an _album_ title, if Yunho ever wanted to go solo, or something and there’s a telling off in there as well because Yunho’s going to _ruin_ his voice, isn’t he, talking so soon after being poisoned and having a tube down his throat. But Changmin can’t do any of those things.

Changmin is too busy cycling through what feels like all five stages of grief plus raw, not entirely unfounded rage.

“Yunho-hyung,” he says, voice very tightly controlled. “What are you saying?”

Yunho stares back at him, eyes doing an odd, odd thing, and then he sighs.

“The first thing you ever said to me was--”

“‘It’s you,’ I know,” Changmin interrupts. “And also your name. I know. We’ve been over it. None of you will ever let me live it down.”

“No,” Yunho says. “No, Changdol, the first thing you ever said to me what ‘where the fuck are your clothes?’”

Changmin’s throat dries up.

“And then.” Yunho breaks off to laugh a little, bemused. “‘Oh, shit mom would have my hide if she heard me cursing.’” He shakes his head. “You were so odd, Changminnie.”

Changmin feels heat flame his face. “To be fair,” he manages, voice a bare whisper. “You had just materialized in the center of my floor, wearing nothing, in a flash of blinding light.”

Yunho blinks at him for a moment and then grins, and Changmin feels blinded all over again. “You’re right,” he says. “That wasn’t the first thing you ever said to me.”

Changmin has a sinking feeling.

“The first thing you ever said to me was _‘um’_ ,” Yunho says. “Only, I wasn’t really listening, to be honest.”

Changmin manages a slightly confused sounding noise.

“It gets rather boring,” Yunho says. “Sometimes I tune people out.”

“Right.” Changmin swallows. “When you were. In the sky. As a Star. Because. You’re a Star.”

Yunho graces him with one of those brilliant smiles again.

“Cool,” Changmin says, and faints.

\--

He wakes up what feels like hours later to Yunho’s slightly frantic looking face and even _more_ glowing.

“Yah, stop that, what, what are you doing,” Changmin shrieks, when he realizes that Yunho’s got his glowing hand pressed up against his heart and it’s pulsing and warm and _doing_ something and Changmin is not okay with this information. Changmin is too young to die getting probed by aliens.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho snatches his hand away with a frown. “I’m not an alien.”

Changmin falls back against the hospital bed a little more solidly and stares up at the ceiling. “No,” he says finally. “No, you’re just a Star.”

“Alpha Cassiopeiae,” Yunho affirms. “I’m not _just_ a Star.”

There’s beat.

“Cassiopeiae,” Changmin says finally. His words come out in disjointed half-sentences. “As in-- _in_ Cassiopeia. The constellation. That our fanclub is named after.”

“Why are you talking like that, Changdol, are you okay?”

Changmin sits up and grabs Yunho by both shoulders. “Hyung,” he says. “Are you or are you not a Star in _Cassiopeia_?”

Yunho pouts back at him and Changmin looses his hold.

“Answer the question!”

“Yes,” Yunho says.

Changmin lets go of him and he rubs at his arms.

“Why do you think you had that dream and named us?”

Changmin stares at him, mouth faintly open. “Now you’re manipulating my dreams?” he says. “What the fuck, Hyung.”

Yunho blinks at him, head tilting to one side. “You know you’ve stopped speaking formally to me, yes?” he says. “Just because I’m not actually from Gwangju doesn’t mean I’m not older than you.”

“Hyung!” Changmin colors; he hadn’t realized his speech had dropped. “You’re missing the point.”

Yunho sighs. “I mean technically, Changmin, I’m manipulating your everything,” he says quietly.

Changmin stops, considers that, and then lets his head thunk down onto Yunho’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, also quietly.

After a pause, a hand settles into the hair at the base of his neck. It doesn’t feel weird at all, just nice. Normal. Like any old cuddle in their dorm after a particularly grueling practice.

Changmin’s heart thumps. “Are you,” he starts to say. “Are you my--mine--here for me--?”

“Yes,” Yunho interrupts, emphatic and pulling away so that he can stare intensely into Changmin’s eyes. “Yes. I. I heard you.”

Changmin feels another blush coming, because hell if that wish hadn’t been _embarrassing_.

“And I wanted to help you,” Yunho continues. He looks like he doesn’t know if he should go on. “I’m just here to help you.”

He makes another strange face, and lets go of Changmin’s shoulders.

Changmin has another flash of déjà vu.

“I’m not sure if this was part of the plan, though,” Yunho says. “The idol thing. I just know I needed to be here for you, to help you.”

Changmin blinks a few times. “That’s another thing,” he says. “You have a family. You have childhood friends.”

Yunho stares at him, uncomprehending.

Changmin stares back at him with dawning horror. “Your entire family are Stars?” he blurts out. “Jihye is a Star?”

Yunho’s eyes narrow before he can help himself. “Why are you so interested in my sister?”

Changmin snorts. “Is she from Cassiopeia too?” he asks, ignoring the question.

Yunho lets it go, barely. “No,” he says. “No. I--it’s hard to explain, Changmin,” he says. “But they are my family, in a way.”

Changmin mulls that over. “So basically you’re a Star and were just hanging out in the sky one day and I happened to make a wish that appealed to you so you decided to come down to earth and scare me shitless and basically traumatize me and then? Become an idol?”

Yunho blinks at him. “You’re taking this far better than my mom did,” he says.

“Oh lord,” Changmin says. “You had to explain this entire thing to _your mom_.”

“She is a star,” Yunho points out. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Changmin’s not really listening. “Did they really disown you? Did they really make you come down by yourself and live on the street?”

Yunho frowns. “Yes,” he says. “They had to come down to earth when we signed the contracts, though.” He pauses, fingers knotting anxiously in the front of his hospital gown. “And when they met you. And your parents. And Junsu. And Junsu’s parents. And Yoochun--”

“Yes, everyone,” Changmin interrupts, shaking his head. “Hyung, you’re impossible.”

Yunho smiles at him, looking hopeful for the first time that night. “But I’m still Hyung, to you?”

Changmin feels warmth creep up under skin. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “I mean I don’t know what you expected me to do when you told me.” He breaks off, suddenly even more annoyed about the three very annoying years he’d spent blocking out 2002 entirely. “No one would believe me if I told them.”

Yunho grabs him by the arms again, eyes frantic. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says quickly. “Promise me, Changmin, you can’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin things if they find out. It’ll ruin you.”

“Me.” Changmin feels a little like he’s drowning. “What’s the big deal about me, anyway?”

“You’re a _star_ , Changminnie,” Yunho says, voice all hushed. “Why do you think I came down here?”

“You mean like, famous, right?” Changmin says, voice dubious.

Yunho giggles at him, knocking their foreheads together. “Of course,” he says. “You wished to _sing_ , Changmin.” He smiles at Changmin again, tinier again. “I’m here to help you sing.” He sounds like he thinks that’s reason enough, only Changmin hardly ever gets lines, hardly ever speaks, and only really gets attention when he’s particularly mean to someone.

He supposes he can sing, but Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and even Yoochun-hyung are proven better. He can hit the high notes, Changmin will admit, but everything else the rest of them do better. He can’t imagine why Yunho, a supposed real life Star, would fall to earth just to help him be moderately famous.  

And then there’s the other thing. “Why’d you lie to me?” Changmin says, and crosses his arms for good measure.

Yunho’s still looking at him all soft-like, but now he blinks a few times. “What?”

“Why’d you pretend you’d never met me in front of everybody?”

Yunho worries at his bottom lip. “I didn’t want to confuse you,” he says.

Changmin punches in the arm. He feels slightly bad about it and no doubt his ancestors are turning in their graves, but Yunho totally deserves it. “Hyung,” he says. “Nothing about what you did _wasn’t_ confusing.”

Yunho has the decency to look apologetic. “I didn’t want it to be weird?” he tries instead.

Changmin has the urge to punch him in the arm again, but now it’s all mixed in with the bubblings of what might be affection, because Yunho really is adorable sometimes. Moments bloom behind Changmin’s eyelids like home video, and he makes the rather stunning realization that all those little times Yunho glanced around the world with childish wonder were less about the awe of fame and more about the awe of being human period.

Which only makes Changmin angrier.  “I thought I was crazy,” he grumbles, arms crossed protectively across his chest.

“Sorry,” Yunho says, sounding it. He’s got the worst set of puppy eyes and Changmin knew, but had forgotten because usually Jaejoong-hyung was shoving him forward to pout at their keepers.

“It’s fine, Hyung,” Changmin admits finally, even though it kind of isn’t.

Yunho tests out a smile.

Changmin feels and answering one light up his own features. “But you have to tell me everything.”

Yunho nods a little hesitantly, looking almost like he’s going to argue, so Changmin barrels on as a distraction.

“But what are we supposed to do about the machines?”

If Yunho is startled by the subject change--or how easily Changmin’s taken everything in--he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just stares at Changmin, then around them at the machines, and then, winks.

Everything comes back to life and doesn’t sound an alarm.

Changmin’s stomach does a not so unpleasant roll. That’s really convenient, he thinks. And also, Yunho doesn’t sound as sick anymore. He even looks like he has more color, and it probably has something to do with the faint glint around his edges. Changmin shoots him a quick look out of the side of his eyes, a little enraptured by the tiny flecks of gold glittering through Yunho’s dyed hair.

Yunho settles back down against the bed pillows, patting the space beside him so that Changmin can better curl up next to him. “Sleep, Changmin,” he instructs.

“You know they’re going to tease us tomorrow when they find us?” Changmin says, but he can feel sleep around the corners of his eyes anyway. He settles down, snuggles in close to Yunho, and notices for the first time that whatever weird cologne he’s always wanted isn’t a fruit, like he’d first assumed, but is probably--and part of Changmin laughs rather hysterically every time he thinks about it--stardust.

“Go to sleep, Changdol,” Yunho’s voice has gone back to sick sounding and raspy and Changmin finds his lips twitching despite themselves. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, html. 
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/163690571925/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-13k-30k-rn) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/892505081106575360)
> 
> Comments/retweets/reblogs are LOVEEEEEE.


	3. wish three: for second chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer: I’m not an unbiased party, I have never pretended to be one, I’m quite clearly a new fan/only interested in the current complete TVXQ, have never had any emotional connection with JYJ, etc etc etc. Also, no one has to read this if they don’t want to, you can close the tab, you can leave. **Be nice in the comments**.
> 
> Betaed by Aixing who is THE BEST PERSON (even though she did try to demand more angst) and with a final look by Izzy. All other mistakes are my own.

 

**wish three: for second chances**

\--

Now that Changmin knows, things are different.

In public, he’s colder around Yunho. He grows into himself, feels himself start to sprout a little--both vocally and physically--and he adapts to his new hair, new nose, and new persona rather easily. He’s Voldemin. A menace. He gets away with all sorts of things now.

But not being Yunho’s best friend.

That’s.

That’s Jaejoong-hyung’s thing.

But that’s fine, really, since Changmin gets Yunho’s nights, sometimes.

Literally, and figuratively, he supposes. Literally, because Changmin’s been climbing into Yunho’s bed since they stopped walking on eggshells around each other after debut; figuratively because Yunho’s apparently a real life Star sent down to earth who shone in the sky and for some reason, wants to give Changmin everything he wants and more.

Changmin hasn’t climbed into Yunho’s bed in months, though. He’s too old for that. Not to mention the sleep talking, which Changmin’s rather hoping the others will forget about, but he knows better.

The first time is in February. Yunho’s just turned twenty-two, and Changmin is just days away from twenty--nineteen, internationally--which means he’ll be able to drink, legally, and so their staff is lax with the alcohol after they’ve finished the CF shoot.

Changmin would blame the truly embarrassing things he said at their impromptu celebration back in Japan on said alcohol, but he was sober in Japan. Sober and embarrassing and on camera.

What he does blame on the alcohol is the fact that he’s knocking on Yunho’s door at three in the morning.

“Changmin-ah?” Yunho sounds perky, but is dressed for bed. He’s got bare feet and sleep pants and a t-shirt Changmin thinks isn’t his.

His hair is soft and unstyled and fluffy.

Changmin narrows his eyes at him, only a little blearily. “Hyung,” he says. “Do stars even need to sleep?”

Yunho grabs Changmin by the wrist, eyes going wild, and not so gently hauls Changmin into his hotel room, shutting the door behind him and casting nervous looks around.

“Changmin-ah!” he says again, only this time anxiously. “You can’t say that out loud.”

“But it’s our birthday,” Changmin says, petulantly and not making much sense, he realizes with like a quarter of himself. The other three quarters of himself are too focused on Yunho’s ruffled from sleep bed.

Changmin blinks.

“So you do need sleep?”

Yunho shakes his head, but he definitely looks bemused.  He looks like that a lot, Changmin’s noticed. Not that anyone else has noticed, since all the attention is on everyone else. “Changdol.”

Changmin’s chest does a weird thing that may or may not be a skipped heartbeat.

“Of course I need sleep.”

Changmin narrows his eyes at him. “Prove it,” he says, like they weren’t sharing a room in Japan with Junsu-hyung.

Yunho just smiles at him, all beautifical and worthy of the whole secretly a real life Star thing, and that’s how Changmin ends up lying side by side in Yunho’s hotel room in Shanghai.

“Manager-hyung is going to kill you,” Changmin says after a few seconds of pause.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not in my room, and Junsu-hyung’s going to notice eventually.” Changmin mulls that over. “You’re not being very convincing,” he decides.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho sounds infinitely amused. “No one could sleep with you shouting in their ear.”

“I’m not shouting in your ear, though,” Changmin says, turning more on his side so he can look at Yunho, and then blinking when he comes face to face with Yunho’s left ear lobe. He blinks a few times. “Oh,” he says. “Never mind.”

“We’re never letting you drink again,” Yunho says.

Changmin feels like he’s morally obligated to protest that. “In like a few days you won’t be able to say I can’t,” he says.

Yunho sighs, and reaches out to pet Changmin’s hair. “Yes, Changdol.”

Changmin lets him, because it feels nice, and settles most of his chin and cheek onto Yunho’s chest. “You won’t be able to,” he repeats.

Yunho pets him a bit more.

Changmin blinks down at the expanse of his collar bones. “Hey, Hyung,” he says.

“Mmm?”

“I googled, you know.”

Yunho’s hand stills in his hair briefly. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Changmin struggles a hand free of the blankets and sets it down somewhere near his nose. “About you.”

Yunho resumes petting, but slower now. It’s soothing; Changmin feels like just going to sleep.

“Yeah. Stop that.” He pulls away from the caresses, frowning, and looks up so that he can meet Yunho’s eyes.

They’re large and brown and filled with starlight.

Changmin’s chest does that thing again. It’s definitely a skipped heartbeat. He swallows. “The Star you are, I mean,” he says.

Yunho’s head tips to one side.

“Alpha Cassiopeiae,” says Changmin. “It’s officially called Schedar.” He stumbles through the Arabic only slightly--the combination of consonants and vowels a little bit odd, after so much Japanese--and occasionally, when Jaejoong-hyung saw fit to it, Chinese.

Yunho’s still staring at him with his head tilted, but his cheeks are pinking.

Changmin grins. He _knows_.

“So named, because it’s Cassiopeia’s breast,” Changmin finishes, like a cat that got the canary. “And Schedar means ‘the breast.’”

“Changdol,” Yunho says, and he’s starting to squirm a little underneath Changmin, cheeks darkening and eyes darting nervously around the room.

Changmin presses his weight advantage, enjoying the use of the new muscles the gym’s given him. “Which means you’re the breast, Hyung,” he says, and if that wasn’t clear enough, darts both hands in to press at the expanse of Yunho’s chest.

“Changmin-ah!” Yunho shrieks, and shoves at Changmin, who goes sprawling off the bed laughing hysterically because he can’t help himself, even as Yunho drags the bedsheet up over himself and pouts at him.

His hair is everywhere and his eyes are sad but there’s a corner of them that is still dancing with starlight.

Changmin drinks that in, feeling like he’s bobbing in an endless ocean. “Yunho-hyung,” he says. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What wasn’t very nice was you harassing me, Changdol,” says Yunho, but the nickname belays the fact that he’s not entirely serious.

Changmin still frowns, half because he’s media trained, but mostly because he _knows_ better. His mother taught him better. His _conscience_ taught him better.

“Oh, Changminnie, I’m joking,” Yunho says, voice doing odd things. He sounds like Changmin felt, two or so minutes ago, when his heart was hopscotching away into affection and promises and things that _they cannot_ have. Changmin stares up at him, still clutching the bedsheet, smiling, and _wants_.

But he can’t have it. He’s barely twenty, more famous than he’d dreamed, and they’re the background noise. The baby and the leader.

Even though Yunho is his, in a way. His Star.

“We really should go to sleep,” Yunho decides, with one last strange smile, and then drops the sheet and pats the bed next to him. “Come back?”

Changmin goes, heart pounding. “Because it’ll piss of Manager-hyung,” he explains, as his eyes fall shut and Yunho dims the room in ways that Changmin’s still half-drunk brain hasn’t been able to comprehend.

“Sleep, Changdol,” says Yunho. He seems to say that a lot nowadays.

\--

Super Junior is in an accident. Changmin hears about it after the fact, as he hears about all news items from back home, currently. He doesn’t have any time to process it, because they’re too busy with the upcoming tour, but Changmin honestly doesn’t know how he gets through the grueling rehearsal.

It’s the first time he’s thankful for getting shoved into the backmost seat in the van.

Changmin sits in silence with his ears ringing.

Kyuhyun might die.

Sure, Changmin wouldn’t say the two of them were like family--and certainly nothing to the extent like he has with his hyungs--but Kyuhyun is still someone he knows. Someone he has hung out with and played video games with and has jokingly rolled his eyes with because of how insufferable Heechul-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung get when they’re together.

And he might die.

Or never sing again.

“Changmin-ah?” It’s not Yunho, and Changmin is for once grateful. He’s not sure what he would have said, if it was Yunho. Or what he might have begged for.

Junsu-hyung is still staring at him, head cocked.

Changmin remembers, suddenly, that Junsu-hyung and Hyukjae-hyung are _best friends_. He swallows.

Junsu-hyung knocks their knees together, eyes red rimmed but painfully dry.

Changmin swallows hard. “Have you...” he manages, voice breaking a little.

He can hear the others vaguely, talking loudly in front about the stage set up and the setlist and Yunho gently but firmly berating Yoochun-hyung for some small misstep--and Jaejoong-hyung rolling his eyes audibly and jumping to the man’s defense.

Junsu-hyung’s mouth pulls down at the corners. “ICU,” he manages. “Hasn’t woken up yet.”

Changmin nods, taking that in.

“Hyukjae said.” Junsu-hyung’s voice cracks this time, and he clears his throat to cover it. “He said he prayed for him.”

 _I’m a Buddhist_ , Changmin doesn’t say. _Yunho-hyung is a real life Star and he could probably fix him in a heartbeat_.

Junsu-hyung clasps a hand to Changmin’s shoulder briefly, before turning back to the rest of them. “Don’t you think you’re being too hard on him, Hyung?” he says, to Yunho, and there’s a tiny gap between the honorific and the end of the sentence that makes Yunho’s brows pull slightly, and has Jaejoong-hyung and Yoochun-hyung smirking.

Changmin’s too busy staring at his frozen reflection in the car window to do anything about that, however.

\--

“Don’t ask,” says Yunho, into his pillow, when Changmin rolls out of his own bed and pads over to stand above him.

Changmin blinks, uncertain.

“Don’t ask,” Yunho repeats, but he sounds less muffled now, like he’s rolled slightly so he’s not smothering himself in the linen anymore and is instead staring at the wall.

Changmin blinks again. “Hyung,” he whispers.

Yunho rolls to face him and his face is glowing.

Changmin yelps, unable to help himself, and he rolls Yunho, glances panickedly over where he left Junsu-hyung starfished on the third bed, and then hurls himself on top of Yunho to further blank out the light.

They end up pressed together, Yunho facedown across the mattress and Changmin rather firmly settled on top of him, elbows, and knees and bones digging in at odd angles.

Yunho makes a muffled noise of discontent, but quiets when Changmin fumbles a hand down to press over his mouth.

His breath is hot and moist against Changmin’s palm; his body is utterly still, like coiled steel.

Junsu-hyung sleeps on.

The fight goes out of Changmin all at once and he sinks down onto the bed with a long sigh. Or rather, onto Yunho. Who’s still steel, and tenser, even.

Changmin can feel every single one of both of their breaths. His cheeks flush. “Oops.” At least he’s still got the facilities to whisper. He rolls off of Yunho, fully aware they do not fit in this single bed, but also not quite believing in his legs’ ability to hold him if he tried to leave. “Sorry,” he adds after a moment.

For a second, he worries that Yunho’s mad at him, that he’s hurt him, or something, because Yunho’s not moving. He’s still on the bed, still face down, and Changmin risks leaning in closer to make sure he’s at least still breathing.

But then, maybe Yunho doesn’t need to breathe.

Finally, Yunho sighs, seems to unfurl, and rolls so that his back is pressed up against the wall and there are centimeters of space between him and Changmin on the too-small bed.

Changmin’s throat bobs with the tension. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Changdol-ah,” Yunho says, breaking the silence finally. He’s not glowing anymore, but his eyes are large and brown and older than Changmin’s ever felt in his life. Schedar is supposedly only two hundred million years, at most. Changmin can’t even quantify that beyond rudimentary scientific notation.

“How old are you?” he interrupts.

Yunho’s mouth open, and then closes.

Changmin feels himself blush even more, and wonders if he’d lose face if he just got back out of Yunho’s bed. Maybe he could just hide his face under Yunho’s pillow.

“Twenty-two,” Yunho says, after a pause. “We celebrated my birthday by getting you drunk, remember?”

Changmin glares at him. Hiding his face is looking fabulous at present. “Thanks for that,” he says.

“The more embarrassing thing was you telling me you loved me,” Yunho says promptly.

“I didn’t mean Jung Yunho,” interrupts Changmin, ignoring him. “I meant Star Yunho. The Breast.” Changmin grins, feeling a little giddy and a lot careless. “Chest-hyung,” he says.

Two spots of color appear high on Yunho’s cheeks.

“Star-hyung?” Changmin tries, heart pounding for reasons beyond him. This feels like one of those moments in dramas, where the female lead and the male lead share an incredibly chaste kiss and the rest of their band starts whistling and making a fuss and going on about all the acting projects Changmin had stared at for far too long.

“Changmin-ah.”

Oh no. Changmin laughs nervously, caught. He’s tuned everything out. If it was a kiss moment, he’s missed it. It’ll probably never come back, and he’s not happy about that. He’s almost _sad_ about it.

Changmin’s stomach turns itself in knots.

“I’m not old,” Yunho says finally, and that sticks with Changmin.

He licks his lips. “But the textbooks say--”

“The textbooks say I’m a flaming ball of gas, and I am most certainly _not_ ,” Yunho snaps, cheeks still a little flushed, and he refuses to meet Changmin’s eyes for a full two seconds afterwards.

Changmin watches them go darting around the room, feeling slightly dizzy, slightly taken aback, but more solidly on sure footing. “No,” he concedes. “Not all the time, anyway.” He tries out a smile. “You’re horrible after a good meal, though.”

Yunho’s mouth drops open, and then he throws his head back and laughs.

Changmin has a near heart attack at the noise, shoves both hands over Yunho’s mouth again, and cranes over his own shoulder back towards Junsu-hyung, who remains blissfully asleep.

Changmin feels bad. Junsu-hyung had stayed up later than the rest of them texting with Hyukjae-hyung, until he’d come in to bed a few minutes later after a manager had confiscated the Super Junior member’s phone because he was aggravating his own injuries.

Luckily, it means Junsu-hyung is extra dead to the world today. The combination of brutal schedule and too-near trauma will do that to you.

Changmin turns his attention back to Yunho, who’s gone worryingly silent again. He’s not breathing.

Changmin pulls his hand back with a great gasp, heart racing _again_.

Yunho breathes in one great gust, looking slightly lightheaded, and takes the not so gentle telling off Changmin levels him in whispers with a half-smile. “Sorry, Changdol,” he says. “I forget.”

“You’re doing a fabulous job of making me think you’re twenty-one, Hyung,” Changmin says.

Yunho just keeps smiling. “Twenty-two,” he corrects.

Changmin throws him a livid look. “Not here,” he says.

Yunho’s brows pull in the middle. “True,” he says. “Have you ever thought about how weird that is?”

“No,” Changmin lies. “Now stop evading the question. Are you or are you not millions of years old?” _And do I like you anyway_ , his traitorous brain finishes off. Changmin digs crescent moons into his own palms.

“No,” Yunho says. “The star is but I.” He looks like he doesn’t have the words for it. “I didn’t really exist until I heard you,” he decides.

Changmin takes that in.

“I mean. I have memories, sort of.” Yunho purses his lips, thinking. “And Jihye and I weren’t even from the same part of the sky--”

“So I’m older than you,” Changmin interrupts, brain having reached the most important conclusion. “By.” He does the mental math. “Fourteen whole years.” He’s feeling lightheaded. “Holy, shit, I’m a deviant.”

“What?” Yunho looks startled.

“Nothing!” Changmin squeaks out, horrified. “Nothing at all.”

Yunho’s still looking at him strangely, but he lets it go. “No,” he says finally. “I’m still older than you.”

Changmin opens his mouth to protest.

“I can’t really explain it to you without breaking your brain, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says. “But I’m two years older than you.”

Changmin’s mouth shuts.

“No more, no less,” Yunho finishes. “And Jihye is your age.”

Changmin decides to let it go, if only for his own peace of mind. Being mildly attracted to your hyung is far more palatable than being mildly attracted to a million year old celestial being or worse, essentially a five-year-old.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho still looks a little bit annoyed. “I promise I am _not_ five years old.”

Changmin stares at him. “Uh-huh,” he says.

“I’ve dated people?” Yunho sounds incensed, like he’s got something to prove, and like he hasn’t noticed his voice is rising in tone and his cheeks are twin points of red again.

Changmin takes it in, files it away as some reporter’s wet dream--and who knew that Yunho-hyung’s gone that far with women, who knew?

“Okay?” Changmin thinks he should stop here, before they go even further into the realm of too much information. “How does that even make any sense, though?”

Yunho pauses, seemingly caught. “Time travel,” he decides finally, tension easing out of him like a snapped rubberband.

Changmin narrows his eyes. “You just thought of that now,” he says.

“No.” Yunho won’t meet his eyes. “I can time travel. It’s a star thing.”

“Liar,” says Changmin. “You’re just saying that because of that manga we all read.”

“Which one?” says Yunho, sounding honestly curious, and then glares at Changmin. “I mean I am not,” he says.

Changmin hums. “Sure.” He lifts a hand and scratches at the side of his nose. “Prove it.”

Yunho looks about two seconds from saying: how.

“Time travel to next year and tell me Kyuhyun makes it,” Changmin says, and then, stops, heart breaking. “Fuck,” he curses, all the fight going out of him. “ _Fuck_.”

The humor leaves Yunho’s face as well, and he reaches a gentling hand in between them to set on Changmin’s shoulder. “Changdol,” he says.

“Fuck, Hyung.” Changmin’s aware his voice is wrecked again, that he feels quite like crawling back over to Junsu-hyung so that they can sad cry together a few more times, but he can’t help himself. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says again.

“Don’t ask me, Changdollie,” Yunho says. “Please don’t ask me.”

Changmin looks at him, and even though he hadn’t know what he meant when he’d started over here, now he knows. “Fix him?” he says. “Please?”

Yunho bites his lip. “Changdol.”

“Please?” Changmin knows he’s begging. “Please, Hyung?” He grabs at both of Yunho’s hands, pulls them up between them and makes his eyes as big and bambi-like as he can. Like how the hyungs tease him on sleepless nights, when everyone’s a little too tired to be nice to each other, and not even Yunho has the energy to put out fires. Like how the hyungs glare at him for, because it always works.

“Changdol,” Yunho says again. “Changmin. I can’t.”

And Changmin had known, thinking back on it--on Yunho in the hospital more often than home the year before and of walking in on Yunho with two bags of orange juice on the table in front of him, jaw clenched, face ashen, staring down the barrel of a full bottle with his hands fists at his side. He’d known that there were things he should never wish for, but he’d always thought it was selfish. That it was to keep the secret, not because of a lacking.

He’s not so sure now.

“Liar,” he decides.

“Changminnie.” Yunho looks like he’s breaking.

“He’s my _age_ , Hyung,” Changmin says. “He loves to sing.” He clears his throat. “He sings--he sings _better_ than me.” Nobody loves him, yet, he doesn’t say. Nobody knows how much they want him to stay.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Yunho says.

“I want you to save him,” Changmin says. “I wish that you’d save him.”

Yunho keeps looking at him, with shattered, broken eyes.

Changmin waits for his miracle, for blinding light, for their phones ringing off the hook about how Kyuhyun’s woken up fine, how they didn’t need to fight about how they were going to get the ventilator in any way since he doesn’t need it. How Changmin has his friend back.

“I can’t, Changmin,” Yunho says. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Changmin snaps, chest turned to ice. “You’re selfish.”

He’s aware that his voice is harsher than usual, that his speech, usually still mildly polite on night talks like this, has wavered well into the territory of blatant disrespect.

Yunho doesn’t call him on it, and that makes things worse. Yunho probably doesn’t care. Formal speech and cultural norms probably mean nothing when your home is outer space.

“What will happen to you,” Changmin had asked once. “Will you ever go home?”

Yunho hadn’t answered, had just laid there looking at nothing, before he’s smiled, brilliantly and enough to take Changmin’s teenage breath away and make something stir in him that he’d been fighting for years. “Only when you’re famous, Changminnie,” he’d said. “Then we’ll. I’ll go home.”

Changmin had been too caught up in the doubts about that--about being famous enough to warrant a Star leaving the sky for him.

Now all he can think about is ultimatums. Changmin’s nothing to Yunho but a means to an end.

He gets out of the bed, gets to his feet, and turns his back on Yunho.

“Changmin,” he hears.

He ignores him.

\--

Kyuhyun survives.

No one calls it a miracle. No one shouts on about how he’s wowed science. He gets moved around the hospital as his vitals get better, but Super Junior’s comeback is well and truly ruined, and the one time Changmin manages to get someone to put him through to Kyuhyun on an expensive international call, his friend just sounds like he’s still dying on the side of the road.

There’s video of that moment.

Junsu-hyung lost two phones when they found it. One to the wall, and one to a manager-hyung, as mad as the five of them, but practical enough to know better than to break two phones in less than a week.

By the time the _Five in the Back Tour_ has started and Tohoshinki are allowed to go home to TVXQ, Changmin’s almost made peace with himself--and Yunho-hyung, whom he’s stopped thinking of as an all-powerful creature beyond simple formalities, and has instead started thinking of as their leader again.

And he’s certainly leading them far.

As Kyuhyun gets stronger and Super Junior unites behind their name--in time to slam up against a wall of entitled discontent when they break into China--TVXQ gets stronger and larger in Japan and Korea as well. They go to Japan two times over, they sell out stadiums Changmin can’t even dream of, they do _Tokyo Dome_ , they finish A-Nation to a roaring crowd--and through all of it, Junsu-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung and Yoochun-hyung grow quieter, grow closer.

Changmin chalks it up to exhaustion, to how run ragged they are by the end of year promotions in 2008 and 2009, how dreaming in Japanese does things to you when you’re not even in Japan--and won’t even be for the next few weeks.

He ignores the three of them flying to China on their New Year’s vacation.

He ignores the three of them fighting with management over Crebeau.

He ignores the whispers of discontent about their contracts.

He ignores everything, until one Thursday morning, when Changmin wakes up in Japan to news that Michael Jackson, so called king of pop, has died.

Changmin only knows because Yunho is obsessed, to put it lightly, and respects the man’s artistry and dance talent and seems to think all the crotch grabs are artistic, or something.

He’s not got an alert set up or anything, but it is rather hard not to know when one works in the entertainment industry, so when Yunho comes into their room that morning with a sorrowful face and a downturned mouth, Changmin really thinks nothing of it.

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, and stops, looking like he doesn’t know what to say.

“I know, Hyung, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Changmin says, still feeling like he could get away with going back to sleep or something.

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says again, tone not changing.

Changmin finally looks at him more solidly, and notes the bags under his eyes. The hard lines of his shoulders. He stops trying to get more solidly under the coves and sits up in his bed. “Did they change our flight?” He gets out of bed, starts rummaging for his clothes--when are they going back to Japan, again? Can he get away with leaving clothes here?--and only stops when Yunho takes a tiny step towards him.

He looks like he needs a hug.

Changmin feels something in his chest break a little. He maybe trips on his way to Yunho, but no one is around to see, and certainly no one has ever seen _this_. Yunho crying.

It’s silent, tiny shakes to his shoulders that leave Changmin at a complete loss, because they talked about this once. About how pain is different for Stars. About how tears are different for Stars. About how the story Yunho tells the press and their fans about his grandfather isn’t a complete lie. Tears are special for Stars. They _mean_ something.

Changmin has no idea what these mean. He writes them off as shoulder shakes, and decides he’s still never seen Yunho cry. The alternative is terrifying.

“The photoshoot’s canceled,” Yunho manages finally, lifting his head off of Changmin’s shoulder to look at him.

His eyes are dry, his lashes are clumping, and Changmin hadn’t realized he wasn’t hyung anymore.

“Okay?” he says.

“They want us home anyway,” Yunho says, voice breaking. “They. The others are--”

“Oh there you are,” says Jaejoong-hyung, voice not sounding mean, per se, but ruining whatever moment Changmin thought he and Yunho were having. “See, I told you. Went straight to him.”

“Don’t be mean, Jaejoong-hyung,” says Yoochun-hyung. He smiles a little at Changmin.

Yunho’s frozen, and for some reason, Changmin feels quite like stepping between him and the rest of his band.

And what of that, he thinks. What the fuck of that?

Junsu-hyung is standing awkwardly behind the rest of them, looking not quite uncertain. It’s because Junsu-hyung always looks like he knows what he wants, Changmin decides, in the car to the airport. His phone’s been taken by Yunho and no one is talking because of Manager-hyung, but also, Changmin thinks, an unspoken agreement from the five of them. It’s pointless, though. Changmin saw.

Manager-hyung wasn’t quick enough, Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung were not _quiet_ enough, and so Changmin is perfectly aware of what’s going on. Of what is waiting for them at home.  

Yunho still hasn’t met anyone’s eyes.

“You don’t think,” Junsu-hyung says, considering, when they stop within Gimpo to refill water bottles at the fountain.

“No,” Jajeoong-hyung says. “Look at him.”

“Like a puppy,” Yoochun-hyung says, but he sounds sad.

Changmin’s teeth clench. He wants to shout at them. To ask them how _dare_ they. To demand answers, to drag the truth out of them kicking and screaming because it can’t be the contracts because everyone wanted the contracts five years ago when it was one of them on the line.

A flash catches his eye. Reporters, or fans, probably. He doesn’t know how they find their flights. He doesn’t want to know.

He ducks his head, fiddles with his beanie.

Yunho arrives from the bathroom with Manager-hyung, still looking a little bit lost.

Changmin leans in and rights his hat. “Hyung,” he says.

Yunho’s eyes slide over him like oil mixed with water.

It should bother Changmin. It should make him want to run into Jaejoong-hyung’s dubiously open arms. He takes two steps closer to Yunho, tucks in close to his side, so that all the pap photos have the both of them in them.

Their world slices jaggedly in two.

\--

They’re booked until _Kohaku Uta Gassen_.

Yunho lays this out to the five of them on hour three of the meetings. Although, technically, the managers lay this out for them. They’re contracted until _Kohaku Uta Gassen_. They have to do recordings and film music videos and go back and forth between Korea and Japan, even though more than half of them want out.

Even though more than half of them have sued.

Even though more than half of them, apparently, have found other places to live.

Changmin sits through all of it with his shoulders locked and hands firmly in his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“It’s just that we’ve been living together for so long,” Junsu-hyung tries to explain. “Super Junior doesn’t all live together.”

“Super Junior has thirteen members,” Changmin points out, and tries to wince at how gravely his voice sounds. How shy. He feels like he’s reverted back to 2004.

“Super Junior isn’t as famous as us,” Yoochun-hyung points out. It’s the first time he’s spoken so far.

“There are only five of you, as Changmin said,” says Manager-hyung. “Two dorms do not make sense.”

“We’re old enough,” Jaejoong-hyung interjects. “Yoochun lived alone for half of 2007.”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” another manager says.

“You can’t lock us up in a house,” decides Jaejoong-hyung.

“Or what?” Changmin feels stifled, feels like he’s fighting not to drown. “You’ll sue us?”

Jaejoong-hyung seems taken aback, almost like he didn’t think Changmin had it in him. His mouth opens.

Changmin shuts his own, and knocks a knee right up against Yunho-hyung’s. They’re sitting in a semicircle, with Yunho and Jaejoong-hyung on the edges, leaving Yoochun-hyung and Changmin to avoid eyes and face their managers.

A united front.

At the start, it had felt like a formality. Now, it just feels like a falsehood. If the chair wouldn’t squeak, Changmin would inch it closer to Yunho.

Jaejoong-hyung looks at him and seems to see it all. “You’re wasted here,” he says quietly.

Changmin doesn’t think he’s lying.

He doesn’t answer.

At his side, Yunho’s silent.

Their managers break the silence, shuffling over themselves quietly and talking in whispers. They haven’t called the lawyers in, but the lawyers have been called; they haven’t brought Kim-ssi in yet, but Kim-ssi has been told.

They’re walking a tightrope and there’s nothing at the bottom.

Changmin drowns the discussion out in favor of glancing around the room. He watches the three of them. Yunho, he knows, is invested. He’s quieter than usual, and has let their managers do most of the beseeching and arguing. Jaejoong-hyung, it seems, has elected himself as de facto leader. It makes sense, Changmin thinks. He is the eldest. He would have been the leader if they hadn’t had Yunho in 2003.

Yoochun-hyung is a mystery to him, which is odd. Changmin’s always felt like he could read Yoochun-hyung. Now, it’s all he can do to stay seated next to him.

Junsu-hyung is no less vocal, but he’s cautious. He looks around. He keeps trying to catch Changmin’s eye.

Changmin doesn’t let him, keep staring at the ground, or his hands, or Yunho, who holds it together with an iron will.

He looks dimmer than usual. He talks about what they’ve accomplished, what they’ve managed to do as TVXQ, and what they can still do. He talks about their comeback. He talks about their unfinished songs. He talks about a lot of things.

None of is it new. None of it shines.

Changmin watches him, and can’t look away.

“We’re not going to agree in one day, obviously,” one manager says finally, voice sounding strained.

“Our parents want to speak to you,” Jaejoong-hyung interrupts. He sounds mean finally.

Changmin doesn’t know what to do with that.

“It’s not Manager-hyung’s fault,” Junsu-hyung hisses.

Jaejoong-hyung has the decency to look chagrined.

Changmin wants a shower.

Yunho still hasn’t looked away from the three of them.

“We’ll pick this up after Bangkok,” Manager-hyung decides. “You’re all going home.”

Junsu-hyung’s mouth opens.

“All of you.”

It closes.

Manager-hyung looks at them, almost disparaging. “Do I have to dismiss you?”

They go home.

No one speaks.

\--

Bangkok is hard. After the concerts, they’re taken back to the hotel. They have multiple vans, because they have multiple staff. Everyone is too tired to fight when Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung pile into one of the more full vans.

The dancers glance nervously between them, fully aware there are no more seats.

“It’s fine,” Changmin says, because it’s clear Yunho isn’t going to say anything. “We’ll just take the next one.”

“I’ll stay,” one of them offers.

It’s enough to snap Yunho out of it. He smiles, bright and fake and without any of his usual charm. “It’s fine.”

The second car is quiet and subdued. They’ve got a manager, two dancers, and driver-nim, following after the rest of their entourage back to the hotel.

Yunho rests his head on the window the moment they get in, seemingly exhausted.

Changmin sits next to him, even though he doesn’t have to because there’s plenty of room. It’s becoming a habit, being a buffer. Although most of the time, it feels much more like being a doormat. Changmin thinks back on it, and he’s been in that place for a while now. Since January. Since before, probably.

If he thinks honestly, since October 2006, when he learned Yunho’s secret. But it wasn’t like that had changed anything, really.

And Changmin was sure, actually, that if any of the rest of them had asked, Yunho would have told them.

“Yunho-hyung.” He nudges Yunho in the side, gently, and leans in so no one else can hear.

Yunho’s eyes don’t open, but he shifts slightly.

“Do they know?”

Yunho’s lips twist.

Changmin sighs. “Do they _know_.”

That gets him a response. “Changmin.” Yunho seems amused. “Why would they know?”

Changmin feels embarrassed for reasons beyond him. “I don’t know.” He feels like his face is on fire. “Why are you yelling at me--I’m just looking out for you.”

“I’m not yelling, though?” says Yunho.

Changmin ignores him. “If they knew, it would make things messy,” he decides. “They’d have something over us.”

“They do have something over us,” Yunho sighs, looking subdued suddenly. “Their voices--”

“If you say their voices I will leave right now,” Changmin snaps, not having any of this. “We’d be fine, on our own.”

Yunho is looking at him oddly again, but he doesn’t like quite so listless anymore. “The goal isn’t to be on our own, though.” His lips twitch. “I’m glad you have so much faith in us.”

“Well the way someone was going on about it I should have faith in us.” Changmin smiles a little, and settles more solidly into his seat. He thinks it’s funny, how they’ve both ended up in the back row, alone, pressed thigh to thigh. “I’m supposed to be world-changingly famous,” he says.

“I don’t think I said world-changingly famous,” Yunho replies, voice dry as a bone.

Changmin rolls his eyes a little. “Who said I was talking about you, Hyung?”

Manager-hyung is watching them in the rear-view mirror. Their dancers are all on their phones.

“I have plenty of other people in my life going on about how world-changingly famous I am. You haven’t got a monopoly on that.”

“I really don’t think I ever said world-changingly--”

“Of course not, it’s not a real word,” Changmin interrupts, shoving in close so that their shoulders touch.

He waits with baited breath for Yunho to push back.

After a pause, he gets one, barely there, barely noticed, but flesh on flesh. Yunho’s warmer than he is, as usually. Changmin used to think it was a Star thing; now he thinks it’s a Yunho thing.

Their manager’s face is hard to read.

Changmin meets the man’s eyes in the mirror blatantly.

He looks away.

“Changmin,” Yunho says.

Changmin looks at him, head tilted up in innocence. “Hyung?”

“You--you do want us to stay as five, right?”

Changmin thinks about it. He’s not had time to think about it, honestly. He’s looked at the arguments. He’s heard Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung argue over their incomes, and he’s heard the sense in leaving with them. He talks a big game, but he worries. His voice is shabby at best. There’s no way he’ll be able to dance to Yunho’s level.

They’d need a miracle.

Luckily, Yunho is one.

“If they’ll let us,” he settles for.

Yunho is looking at him with his eyes rather guarded. “You’ve grown up, Changmin-ah,” he says.

For once, that actually feels like a compliment.

\--

They book Changmin a drama. It was expected, honestly. Changmin had mostly been waiting for his turn. He’d grown up on dramas, seen Jaejoong-hyung and Yunho-hyung suffer through the all night filming and thought it couldn’t have been harder than being in one of the most famous bands, and so he’d pushed for it.

It feels bittersweet, though, since Yunho has nothing. Yunho has everything until _Kohaku Uta Gassen_ , and then questions after.

But not Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung or Yoochun-hyung.

Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung have a press conference.

Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung have the moral high ground, poison the water with lies that Changmin can’t actually believe are spreading, to the point where he’s two paces from begging Yunho to let them move out when the news comes in.

The court’s moving forward.

No one will own up and say they’re disbanding.

“Moving out is wise,” Changmin’s father says.

“They can move out,” Changmin replies, tone harsh. “It’s our home.”

“There are only two of you,” Changmin’s mother says.

They’re over more often than not, trying to ease the tension.

In June, there had been one meeting, which ended with Yunho near tears, Yunho’s father threatening to end it all, and Changmin’s parents following in his wake with heavy frowns and quick cooling kisses to the top of Changmin’s head.

“Be careful,” his mother had said. And then rather cryptically, and seemingly without knowing that Yunho was a Star, “Yunho is something special.”

Changmin doesn’t know what they talked about, only that it ended poorly, Jaejoong-hyung hasn’t spoken to Yunho without Yoochun-hyung around since, and no number of schedules can make up for that.

His mother is fiddling with his collar, frowning at the state of his hair. His father is over on the phone with Yunho’s father.

Changmin thinks briefly about Yunho’s father. He knows he’s a Star as well, but the man has a life. All of Yunho’s family are real and honest and hardworking. His mother’s cooking makes Changmin’s mouth water at the thought of it, even with his own mother standing in the room licking at a cowlick towards the back of his head.

But they’re still Stars.

Time travel, Yunho had said.

If they do this, if they stay together, Changmin’s going to demand answers.

His mother makes a noise in the back of her throat, and Changmin turns his attention back to her, half horrified.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he says.

She shakes her head. “You have a lot on your mind.”

Changmin still feels bad. He looks at the food she’s brought him and Yunho. Their fridge has been barren lately, since neither of them want to brave the kitchen without the others around. There are too many memories there, too much forgotten laughter.

He thinks Jaejoong-hyung left the rice cooker--their first one, bought in Japan, with their first real bit of paycheck, and brought diligently back through customs as a souvenir.

Of the five of them, Yunho’d liked it the most, according to Jaejoong-hyung because it was the only thing he could cook, but really Changmin thinks because it’d reminded him of one of their triumphs. They’d made enough to feed themselves. And in a foreign country, no less. It had meant something.

Jaejoong-hyung left it behind. That means something too.

“You really should move out,” Changmin’s mother says finally. It’s probably not what she’d been saying, but Changmin’s been too busy staring at the kitchen doorway, lost to the world.

“There’s too much space for two of you,” his mother explains.

Changmin knows she means there’s too many memories. He agrees, but Yunho doesn’t.

Changmin clears his throat. “We can’t leave.”

His father heaves a sigh and puts his phone away, and comes around to stand next to his mother. They stand there, dual expressions of worry lining their faces.

Changmin bites his lip, and hates that he has to say this. “If Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung settle with the company, they’ll move back in.”

His father looks sad. “If?”

“When,” Changmin lies, and musters a smile in time for Yunho to come in, Manager-hyung following after him.

“Oh,” he says, bowing and taking off his shoes. “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

“We’re leaving, anyway,” says Changmin’s mother, voice kind. “We brought you food.”

Yunho bows again, no doubt thinking of his own parents. Gwangju is too far for them to come up much, and they’re both too busy for all of the back and forths. But Changmin knows Yunho talks to his father, calls him every night to ask him his council, and even though he hates that whatever the advice is has them stuck living in this three bedroom waiting for word that Changmin is relatively certain won’t come, it’s still a lifeline for the both of them.  

“Thank you,” Yunho says. He bows again, still looking lost.

Changmin’s mother makes one of those mom sounds, and Changmin decides he should just get out of the situation immediately. She’s probably going to try to hug Yunho, or Changmin, or _both_ of them, and then she might start crying, and then, when Yunho doesn’t cry--because he never cries--and Changmin doesn’t cry because he’s trying to be as strong as Yunho, she’ll just cry more.

“Mom,” he says, stepping in front of her before she can go in for the hug. “Thank you, really.”

His mother pauses, one hand stretched out towards Yunho.

Then she smiles a knowing and slightly worrying smile, and pulls Changmin in for a goodbye hug.

His parents leave with quite kisses and hurriedly donned shoes, and Changmin and Yunho are left holding the boxes of homemade food staring at a closed door.

Manager-hyung wanders by carrying a load of laundry.

“Yunho-yah.” He sounds annoyed. “You have nothing to wear.”

Yunho doesn’t say anything about how it’s not like they have anything that needs them to wear anything anyway.

Changmin thinks that’s progress.

\--

It gets worse. He sees Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung and Yoochun-hyung on the opposite side of tables, lawyers present, contracts highlighted, and nothing changes. Both sides go back and forth.

Yunho continues to make impassioned and painful pleas for them to listen, for the rumors to stop, for the fans to stop worrying, but everything is a mess.

At one point, they all end up in the dorm together because leaving in separate cars is simply not possible. Sasaengs and press combined make it impossible for them to go anywhere but their shared home.

That’s the worst night.

Yunho makes his pleas all over again, with slightly more fire and light and stardust and Changmin stands behind him and tries not to cry for how dim he looks. How he’s trying to muster strength and hope and coming up empty.

It doesn’t really work. They do Shanghai, because they have to do Shanghai, but they’re half out of sync.

Changmin sticks close to Yunho for most of the ending. He knows Yunho’d be fine, would hold whomever’s hand and still bow for longer than all of them, but he can’t shake the feeling that every olive branch is taking parts of Yunho that they’ll never get back.

On their way back to the hotel, they share a van--left alone without even a backwards glance or a worried interjection from any of their dancers, a manager and a bodyguard in the seats behind them, the driver silent at the front.

“Yunho-hyung?” Changmin asks, voice a little broken and strained. Maybe he can blame it on the singing. “Can you glow for me?” He feels embarrassed, asking, but it was nice, that first time, if not slightly blinding. And he certainly remembers the hospital.

He expects to get told off for ruining the secret.

He expects to get told off for making light of what is obviously a very important and difficult thing for Yunho, Alpha Cassiopeiae, the breast of Cassiopeia herself.

He gets none of those things.

Yunho looks at him, eyes very wide, and says, “Changminnie. I don’t think I can.”

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO UH, THAT WAS A THING. WOOOO.
> 
> Three things:  
> 1) There is some hilarious shit in here, namely, involving which star Yunho is. I think I’m hilarious.  
> 2) I have the biggest pet peeve about how fandom has normalized calling yunho’s chest ‘moobs’ so just. Please don’t do it in the comments I am not going to die on this hill but IF YOU COMMENT ON IT I JUST MIGHT.  
>  ~~3) Men are mammals. We’re all mammals. We don’t have to gender goddamn mammary glands.~~
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/163950126800/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-21k-explicit) | [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/894961971161858048)
> 
> RETTWEETS/REBLOGS/COMMENTS ARE LOVE.


	4. wish four: for empty promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo 2010 wooooooo. Betaed by Aixing, who spent most of it wailing at me and also helped me with commas and making sense. SHE IS THE BEST PERSON WE SHOULD ALL LOVE HER. All other mistakes are my own.

**wish four: for empty promises**

\--

The day _Break Out_ comes out feels like an ending. It feels like the final nail in the coffin, for lack of a less maudlin turn of phrase. The better half of the month has felt long and unending and Changmin supposes he’s thankful for that, because it means he doesn’t have to think about what happens when it ends. He has _Paradise Ranch_ , at least, but Yunho has alcohol and long walks unsupervised and the fact that they haven’t sat alone in a room together since Shanghai.

Changmin feels like that’s probably his fault; he’s the one who’d panicked, who’d started saying things like ‘you need to go home’ and ‘not Gwangju, Hyung, _home_ ,’ until Yunho had pulled rank on him and made him stop talking.

It’s not the first time Changmin’s felt like a dongsaeng around Yunho.

It’s the first time he feels like that’s all he’s ever going to be.

So they haven’t seen each other much save for contract negotiations and meetings and the painful deposition prep that SM is insisting on in case they’re called in for more of the court cases.

Yunho shows up on Jeju Island wearing a leather jacket, torn jeans, and a hat. He’s got two carry ons and nothing else--a backpack he’s half slung out of already and another smaller laptop case. He didn’t fly--that much is obvious from the slightly green tinge to his skin (Yunho never did like boats, much) which means he’s must have been missing a while. The rather pointed way he sets his phone down on Changmin’s bedside table only further proves that; Yunho uses a thumb and an index finger and worries his lip the whole time.

“It’s off,” he explains, when it becomes clear that Changmin’s not going to do more but gape at him from where he’s standing opposite him wearing only pajamas. “I’m afraid to turn it on.”

Changmin thinks about that.

“No one knows I’m here,” Yunho continues.

Changmin swears. “Hyung!” He rounds the bed in uneven strides, shoves past Yunho none too delicately and grabs the phone, thumbing it on with anxiety in every step.

To his part, Yunho just watches him, taking off his hat, shrugging out of the leather jacket, and kicking off his shoes.

Changmin doesn’t even have time to yell at him about that, because the phone lights up, and lights up, and just doesn’t stop lighting up.

“It’s a long train to the ferry,” Yunho explains.

Changmin takes that in.

“The ferry ride itself is also long.”

Changmin doesn’t pinch the bridge of his nose. He sets Yunho’s phone down--on silent at least, but still pulsing alive with message after message--as a lost cause, and grabs his own from where he’d tossed it on the bed after his shower.

 _Hyung_ , he sends to the first manager he finds. _Yunho-hyung came to visit me at filming_. Changmin pauses, lips pulling together. _I asked him to_.

He sets the phone down before he gets a response, and then turns to Yunho before he can start mentally berating himself for still doing that. For taking care of Yunho. For covering for him. For acting like _he’s_ the Hyung--for tying up all the loose ends.

Yunho looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I told them where you were,” Changmin says.

“Thanks, Changdol.”

Changmin nods, uncertain. He has an early filming schedule tomorrow. And Yunho really shouldn’t stay away from Seoul so long. And also: “I told you _not_ to visit me.”

He had, is the thing. They’d been texting a lot since Changmin wasn’t filming in Australia anymore. Part of that was the cost, part of that was the lack of jealousy--Jeju Island is freezing in January, and the fact that all of them--that the two of them had been before, made for much less of an issue. Yunho had mostly wanted to make sure Changmin was eating, sleeping, and acting properly, which Changmin had taken to mean Yunho was bored, borderline insomniac, or drunk out of his mind, most of the time.

Taking the train and ferry to Jeju Island with his phone off without a manager case in point.

Yunho just sighs, and sits down on Changmin’s freshly made bed.

Changmin tries not to frown too hard at the state of his jeans. It’s fine. He’s not going to be sleeping on the blankets anyway. Also, he’s being absurd and nitpicky and he sounds like damn Yoochun-hyung. Yoochun-ssi. Changmin feels his jaw flex and shoulders straighten.

It’s habit he tells himself. Habit and operant conditioning and nothing like respect or loneliness or nostalgia.

He hates the three of them with every breath.

“How’s the show going?” says Yunho finally, breaking the silence between them.

Changmin thinks he ought to sit down on the bed or something as well, but somehow that feels even more awkward. His pajamas are sleep pants and a t-shirt that might be Yunho’s that he maybe stole on his way out the door. Not on purpose or anything, of course, but it’s got a pretty distinctive tear pattern in the back where the tag was--Yunho cut it out years ago in a fit of annoyance because it was itchy and was ruining his sleep or whatever--that Changmin’s pretty sure the moment Yunho sees things are going to get even more awkward.

Even though it wasn’t on purpose, and they share clothes all the time.

“Good,” Changmin answers Yunho’s question finally. “They haven’t made me kiss anyone yet.”

Yunho thinks that over.

“Don’t say good,” Changmin rushes to add. “That’d be so awkward, Hyung, please.”

That seems to ease Yunho slightly, and he laughs. It’s a helpless, sad sounding laugh, but it’s more joy than Changmin’s seen from him since they were left alone in the waiting room before Kohaku Uta Gassen and no one had said a single word. “I’m sitting in your fancy hotel room having spent five hours traveling with all of our managers threatening my murder--”

Changmin risks a quick glance down at his phone, sees he’s gotten a telling off for asking Yunho to come visit him without letting anyone know, but also a slightly more subdued thanking five minutes later, and then glances up again.

“--and you’re hovering by your own bedside like I’m a monster wearing my t-shirt.”

Changmin’s eyes cross a little unraveling the roots of that sentence. “Fuck,” he decides. “How’d you know?” He thinks that’s what Yunho had meant, at least. Changmin wearing Yunho’s t-shirt is true, at least, so it makes much more sense for that to be the what he was saying, instead of something weird about monsters wearing Yunho’s clothes. Although looking closer, Changmin thinks that might be his own shirt Yunho’s got on.

“Don’t say anything,” says Yunho, flushing slightly. “It was very dark when I left.”

“It’s midnight,” Changmin points out. “It’s not that long of a trip.”

“I got lost a few times,” argues Yunho. “And I had to dodge fans.”

“Fans.” Changmin scoffs, tossing his hair off his forehead, and finally going to sit down on the bed. On _his_ bed. He’s not next to Yunho or anything, because the bed’s big enough that if Changmin keeps one foot on the floor like an idiot, there’s plenty of space between them. “We still have fans?”

Yunho doesn’t say anything to that, but he looks tired to the bone.

Changmin tells himself he doesn’t feel bad. “You look like you need a shower,” he decides. “I’m assuming you’re staying here?” With me, in my bed, overnight, goes unsaid. Did you know _Break Out_ is released in two days, is somewhat less unsaid--shouted in every move Changmin makes, he thinks.

To his credit, Yunho just answers the easier questions. “Trying to get rid of me before I can even go say hi to everyone on set?” he says. “I haven’t seen Manager-hyung since Friday.”

Changmin stares back at Yunho rather dubiously. “You could have spoken to Manager-hyung this morning if you’d turned your phone on,” he points out, but he’s feeling rather giddy. Like smiling. Like things might actually be okay.

Yunho grins back at him. “Ah, but Changminnie, where’s the fun in that?”

Changmin glances back down at his phone, lights up the screen, and shows Yunho the text.

Yunho reads them with his mouth open, brows doing an odd dance. “Did you--” he starts.

“Cover for you?” Changmin finishes. “Yes, of course.” He doesn’t say it’s his job, because he’d tried that a few months ago and it had not gone over well. A lot of words had been spoken, and not many of them were kind. Probably, they should talk about it. But probably, they should also survive.

Given they’re still living in their old dorm--still waiting for the rest of them to decide to come home--Changmin thinks not talking about all the barbs and insults they’ve thrown at each other is safest.

“Thank you, Changmin,” Yunho says, very seriously.

He sounds subdued again.

Changmin wafts around the room for a subject change. “Have you glowed since?” he ends up with.

There’s a beat, but the tension eases, Changmin concedes. He could have maybe giftwrapped that a little more, but they’re alone, it is midnight, the hotel rooms aren’t thin as paper, and, well, it’s a decent question.

“Have I.” Yunho sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “Have I _glowed_ since?”

“Shut up.” Changmin doesn’t know why he’s blushing. As he’d pointed out, it’s a totally fair question. And important, too, because it’s one of the only arguments that he feels like he can win in.

“No,” Yunho decides eventually. “But it’s not like I’ve had many chances to try.”

Changmin frowns. “Oh.” He hasn’t thought much about what it must be like for Yunho back in Seoul, alone in their dorm, or at the SM building, or wandering along train lines. Or out with Suju drinking. “Try now?” The glowing thing is safest.

Yunho shakes his head a little, but after a pause, he leans back on his hands, closes his eyes, tips his head up, and breathes.

Changmin watches him with bated breath. Yunho hasn’t managed more than a flicker, back when Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim asked them rather seriously if _they_ were serious--like _they_ were the ones throwing it all away; like _they_ were the _problem_ \--and Yunho had gritted his teeth, thrown his shoulders back, and not looked to meet Changmin’s eyes.

“Yes sir,” he’d said, fingertips blazing for less than a second, and Changmin had felt revitalized and new and frankly high on the fact that Yunho wasn’t completely broken. That he hadn’t ruined him entirely.

It would be nice now, given how Changmin is still sore from the long hours spent standing, smiling, and worrying over the looming nude scene. Changmin would welcome it.

Nothing happens.

Yunho deflates with another long exhale of air and collapses across Changmin’s bed. He bounces a little.

How human, Changmin thinks. “Damn,” he says.

Yunho turns to him with a curious look in his eyes, still fully dressed, still a little seasick, but no less beautiful. Every mark on his face stands out against the dullness of his skin. The mole next to his lip is dark and can’t be hidden with make up for well-placed stardust. He’s lovely.

Changmin swallows. “And you’re sure you can’t go home?” He casts his eyes upwards at the end, trying for clarity and feeling a little ridiculous.

Yunho is shaking his head before Changmin finishes. “It wouldn’t help,” he says. “I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

Changmin mulls that over between bitten lips. “I’m going to get you really drunk one day,” he decides. “And you will explain all of this to me in a way that doesn’t make me think about pitching science fiction dramas the next time I have to go in for meetings with SBS.”

Yunho smiles again, but it feels more real this time. “If you say so, Changdol.”

Changmin gives up pretenses of forcing a shower on Yunho and flops across his hotel bed next to the older man. “I do say so,” he says. “You think Jung Yunho’s tragic homeless story is good. Imagine it but with Jung Yunho being an otherworldly being.”

“I’m not otherworldly, though,” points out Yunho, around a yawn.

Changmin can feel the covers bunching up around his lower back, but getting under them seems final. And he’s certainly not letting Yunho put his dirty who knows where they’ve been jeans on his clean sheets. Never mind how much of a tool that makes him feel like, or how it gives him flashbacks to _other_ hyungs, and makes him wonder what else JYJ has left him with.

“It is midnight and I have a sunrise call tomorrow,” says Changmin, shifting around on the bed for a few painful moments before heaving a long sigh and getting under the blankets. “Stay,” he orders Yunho.

Yunho just arranges himself so that they’re not even touching through the blankets, which is no small feat given how tall they both are. They’re both stick thin too, though. Too much stress, too little practice, and too much free time will do that. “Changminnie?”

“I don’t regret it,” Changmin replies, even though he doesn’t think that’s what Yunho was going to ask, because that’s how these conversations always end. Yunho doesn’t glow, Changmin feels bad, Yunho asks him all sorts of odd, probing questions that leave Changmin reeling because whose decision is this--the both of theirs, or _his_ \--and then they lie silently and don’t talk for the rest of the night.

“I know, Changmin,” Yunho says. “I just wanted to know if you could get me Yeonhee’s number.”

Changmin’s mouth opens and then closes. “Yunho-hyung.” His voice is very high.

“Sorry?”

Changmin reaches out and punches him in the arm.

They go quiet.

“But, really?” Yunho starts to say again, and Changmin rolls so that they’re touching through the blankets now.

“I will kick you out right this minute,” says Changmin. “And you can go find Manager-hyung and see how he feels about letting you come to set with me tomorrow.”

Yunho mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key.

“Good.” Changmin closes his eyes.

“I’ll just ask her tomorrow,” Yunho whispers, and only yelps mildly when Changmin kicks him in the shin.

\--

Avex is going to side with JYJ.

They don’t say it outright--they can’t, of course--but Changmin reads it in every smug line of Matsuura-sachou’s face. He reads it in the set of Jaejoong’s shoulders, in how Junsu can’t look the two of them in the eye, and how Yunho goes quiet and dark as the conversation drones on.

It’s a knife in Changmin’s side, leaves him stinging and itching for a fight like nothing else, but there’s only Yunho when he comes home with the information. Yunho who sits next to him on the flight back with his headphones in, hood up, and arms folded neatly in his lap in front of him.

It’s a short flight from Tokyo to Seoul. Neither of them move an inch.

JYJ aren’t even on the same flight home as them. They weren’t on the same flight into Japan, but it still makes Changmin’s palms itch. They’re all going to get papped at Gimpo, and it’s only going to make things worse.

In February, Yunho books a MV shoot. It’s not that big of a deal, but it means Yunho gets to go the salon and have his hair done, means he gets to spend hours on a set _doing_ something, so Changmin sends him obligatory text messages and tries to say positive.

In March, Yunho goes to LA for a week of training for the Michael Jackson concert, and it’s the first time in a while that Changmin’s seen him this excited for something. Michael Jackson dying the day JYJ first filed suit seems… somewhat unfortunate, but it doesn’t seem to bother Yunho, who alternates between excitement about the location-- _London, Changminnie, London_ \--and the people who will be there-- _Stevie Wonder, Changminnie. Beyoncé_.

Yunho comes back slightly more subdued, and Changmin has to spend two hours hunting down various staff members for information. They’re all pretty close to the chest about it.

“We ran into some fans in Incheon,” is all Manager-hyung will tell him after a full half hour of back and forth about who was where and when and why do you even need to know, Changmin.

The whole thing’s left a bad taste in Changmin’s mouth.

He’s not a baby.

His family is on the damn line as well.

“You know I’m not deaf either, right?” Changmin says, and Manager-hyung seems to feel bad, because he tells him some of the tamer things that were shouted.

“They had signs,” he adds, and Changmin is left ready to punch whichever member of their sorry excuse for a band that dares to show their face to him first.

And Changmin’s been practicing. Changmin’s considered taking up boxing or something.

He’s got to stay in shape for the drama, anyway.

In April, Avex sides with JYJ.

In April, SM files suit right back.

In April, Changmin stops waiting for miracles.

\--

“Hyung,” Changmin says, watching Yunho dribble the ball down their makeshift court with half an eye.

The fans were here, so the photos are out, and Changmin should feel self-conscious, because neither of them are dressed to be on the internet. But then, who dresses to be on the internet when playing midnight basketball?

Yunho’s terrible at basketball, but there was only so much they could do with bowling. Not to mention all the memories wrapped up in that. Going out when they were five and getting gutter balls just to make Yunho’s mouth furrow up and sweat bead on his forehead. He was the best of all of them, and he always offered unwanted pointers. Bowling was fun, then.

Bowling now is like biting into a bad penny, leaving copper in Changmin’s mouth, and making his teeth ache.

Yunho shoots at the basket, misses, and goes to retrieve the ball like he’s on autopilot.

Changmin chews on the inside of his mouth. “Hyung.”

Yunho finally looks at him, ball reclaimed. He doesn’t try to smile.

“Hyung,” Changmin repeats. Maybe he’s the robot. “You are awful at basketball.”

That gets him something. A spark.

Yunho’s mouth twinges.

“You’re awful at basketball and I’m only _slightly_ better at basketball and we look like idiots.”

“Manager-hyung ran everyone off before they could do more than take blurry photos,” says Yunho.

Changmin slaps a hand to his chest. “Oh my,” he says. “Was that a full sentence?”

Yunho stops dribbling the ball and frowns. “Changmin…”

“I didn’t think that was even possible anymore,” Changmin continues, uncaring. “A full sentence from Jung U Know Yunho, leader of TVXQ--”

“Some leader,” Yunho interrupts. “Some. Band.”

Changmin ignores him and pushes on. “Kpop Legends and stars of South Korea and Japan.” He gives himself a shake, and presses in close so that he can put pressure on Yunho, even though the older man’s still not dribbling the ball again.

“Changmin.” Now, Yunho looks like he wants to laugh.

“Star--” Changmin’s voice breaks, but he ignores it, shoves in close again until Yunho humors him and starts dribbling. “Stars of East Asia.”

“Rising Gods of the East,” replies Yunho, voice very very subdued. “Changmin.”

“A momentous occasion.” Changmin darts in and steals the ball, delights in the sounds Yunho makes and the squeak of his shoes on the concrete, and then makes for the goal. “Worthy of calendars.”

He shoots.

He scores.

Yunho cheers.

Changmin turns to him with giddy excitement, hand out for a high five. Yunho’s waiting for him, grinning right back. Their hands meet in a less than stellar way and they both frown.

“We are going to have to get better at that,” Changmin decides after a pause. “When we come back.”

He shoots Yunho a look. “Are you ready?”

SM Town is in under two months, and going on stage as a two--with solo songs that had to be rather quickly rearranged to fit only one of them--is stomach knotting. Changmin wants it, and he knows Yunho wants it, but doing it. Going on stage as the two of them and announcing to the world, and whatever fans they have left, is something else. It’s a new chapter.

It’s frightening.

It’s, as Changmin therapist puts it, life changing.

But then, most things with Yunho seem to be.

“Are you?” Yunho says.

Changmin mulls that over. “I suppose,” he decides. He tugs at his hair, long, matted with sweat, and curling. “They’ll make me cut my hair.”

“Probably not until after, though,” Yunho points out.

“Right.” Changmin shakes his hair a little, like a dog. “When I’m worth the investment.”

“Changmin.” Yunho sounds like his old self, always ready to counter Changmin’s cynicism with well-placed compliments.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t put myself down like that, I know.” Changmin shrugs his shoulders. He cocks his head over towards the basketball. “You going to get that? Two out of three, remember?”

Yunho purses his lips. “Changmin.”

Changmin groans and rolls his shoulders back until his back cracks a few times, relief sweet and fast fading. “Yunho-hyung,” he whines. He’s not above that; it’s a whine, it is.

Yunho brushes hair behind his ears. “I--Changmin.” His voice is serious again but there’s some steel in it.

Changmin snaps to attention before he can help himself. He feels a little like a dog, but he lets it go. There are things he’s worked hard to unlearn. Expecting to be cooked for, cleaning up his room to the extreme, tripping over game controllers and impromptu dance parties. Following Yunho-- _wanting_ to follow Yunho--is not something he ever wants to unlearn.

“You do want this, right?”

And Changmin groans once more because not _this_ again. “Yunho-hyung,” he protests. “Why do you keep asking me this? I always want it. And shouldn’t I be asking you what _you_ want?” His shoulders have raised and his voice has gone higher but he really can’t help himself because they were finally getting somewhere and having fun and now Yunho has to make everything serious again. “What do you want? Is this what _you_ want?”

He’s expecting a rather emphatic yes. This is Yunho’s dream as much as it is his. This is why they’d stayed, why they’d ignored the signs and why Changmin hadn’t thought twice when Junsu-hyung finally did work up the courage to ask him to come with them.

Instead, Yunho won’t meet his eyes. “That’s not really important,” is all he says.

Changmin feels like he’s spiraling out of control. “Not really important?” he says.

Yunho still won’t meet his eyes. “It’s not really about what I want, Changmin.”

There’s a ringing in Changmin’s ears.

“I can’t break… promises like that,” Yunho manages, words stumbling out in a mess. “It’s not… done where I come from.”

“Where you come from,” Changmin repeats.

His voice must sound broken enough to get him a look, but it’s fleeting, gone in a second, and filled with so much pain that Changmin feels like dropping to the ground and beating his hands bloody.

“We don’t break promises where I come from,” Yunho enunciates out, in perfect, unaccented Korean.

Changmin almost expects him to start glowing.

“So you didn’t have a choice, is what you’re saying,” he says, already backing away. He has to leave. He has to get out of here. He has to run away to the corners of the earth where no one can find him and cry his eyes out.

He has to unearth the secrets of time travel so he can go back to 2002 and stop his idiotic self from ruining something so beautiful and perfect and pure. Singing isn’t worth this. Standing on stage isn’t worth this. There shouldn’t be anything _worth_ this, having to hear Yunho tell him there are no choices where he comes from. Promises are kept and leaving was never in the cards for him.

Changmin’s heart aches.

Yunho reaches a hand out to him, like he wants to soothe. “Changmin--”

“It’s late, Hyung,” says Changmin. “We should go home.”

Yunho closes his mouth.

In July, Yoochun films a drama. In August, they do SM Town, Avex reconsiders, things start looking up, but Changmin still spends every Monday/Tuesday hiding their television remote and slamming Yunho’s laptop.

\--

It eats at Changmin.

It eats at him all through ‘Keep Your Head Down’ preparations. When they learn the dance for the first time, and Yunho’s the one who’s a little slow, it’s all he can think about. When Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim asks them one last time if they’re certain about it just being the two of them, and Yunho waits for too long to answer, it makes Changmin’s skin itch. When they arrive on set for the music video mid-October, and Yunho laughs and smiles and banters with the staff and the camera like this is what he wants, it’s all Changmin can do to keep from screaming.

Their schedules start to fill up.

Yunho has _Goong_ , which has him in lots of eyeliner and suits and on stage in front of a crowd.

He comes home from a particularly wonderful performance practically blooming, eyes sparkling, and Changmin’s barely opened his mouth to shout at him to take his shoes off when Yunho is _glowing_ , lighting up the room in warm, golden light.

It leaves Changmin utterly breathless, and warms him to the core.

It also semi-blinds him.

“Hyung,” Changmin says, when it becomes clear that Yunho’s not going to stop anytime soon, and when the orange glow of his own eyelids is even starting to hurt. “Hyung, please.”

“Fuck,” Yunho swears, which is jarring in of itself. “Fuck, Changdol, where are your sunglasses?”

“On the dresser,” Changmin says, very dubious. “Hyung.”

He hears the sounds of Yunho fumbling around his room, fumbling around with his drawers, and a few crashes.

“Hyung?” Changmin tries again. “ _On_ the dresser--”

“Sorry!” Yunho sounds very, very sorry. “Fuck, sorry.”

Changmin listens to him make his way back over, lets him very gently hook the glasses around the backs of his ears, and nearly bites through his own tongue at how it feels when Yunho’s thumbs ghost over his cheekbones.

It’s like touching a live wire, or candle wax, and Changmin’s always had a thing for candle wax. It makes him burn.

He blinks his eyes open behind the glasses.

Yunho’s concerned face swims into view, very close.

They’re still touching, and Changmin still feels a little bit like he’s on fire, so probably taking the glasses off is a bad plan.

“Hyung,” he says again.

“Sorry, Changdol,” Yunho says. “I haven’t done that in ages.”

“Ages,” Changmin repeats. He risks a step forward, and grabs for Yunho’s wrist. Heat lights up every nerve ending in his hand and arm. “Yah, Hyung!” Changmin pulls back as if burned, trying so very hard not to be aroused by it all. No one knows about the candle thing. No one is ever going to know.

“Sorry,” Yunho says again. He doesn’t seem to dim or anything.

Changmin pauses. “Hyung. Can you not turn it off?”

Yunho looks down suddenly. His hair covers his eyes, which is all sorts of unfair, because he’s grown it out again and the backlighting is making him love even more ethereal and lovely. And giving Changmin a massive headache.

“Sorry,” Yunho says for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’m just so happy.”

“So, you glow when you’re happy,” Changmin says. “Good to know.” He debates continuing, and then sighs, done with the half truths. “I thought you only glowed when _I_ was happy.”

“Changmin.” Yunho sounds hurt. He dims a little.

Changmin tilts the glasses down his nose and decides he’s not gone far enough. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he lies through his teeth. This is a hunch. This is him saving face, and trying so very hard not to end up screaming crying outside Jaejoong and Yoochun’s apartment demanding they never speak to him or Yunho _ever_ again. “You never said you could never break promises period.” As he speaks, Yunho dims enough for him to take the glasses off fully. He doesn’t, because it means everything is dark and muted in the room. “So it has to be me.”

Yunho’s not glowing anymore.

“My wish,” Changmin concludes. “You can’t break my wish.”

“You didn’t want to leave, Changmin.” Yunho sounds miserable. “You just wanted to sing.”

Changmin takes the glasses off because he feels like Yunho’s getting off easy, and missing out on the full effect of all his anger. “I didn’t want to leave because I thought _you_ didn’t want to leave,” he snaps. “You should have _told_ me.”

Yunho stares at him, lips parted.

“You should have told me so we could have decided _together_ ,” Changmin finishes, and then bows in a parody. “Good job tonight, Yunho-hyung,” he says. “I’m going out with Kyuhyun and Minho. Don’t wait up.”

He doesn’t wait for Yunho to call him back before he’s heading for his shoes and out the door.

\--

Kyuhyun sighs when he lets him in.

“You fought again,” he says.

“I am going to own your ass at Mario Kart,” Changmin says.

Kyuhyun pulls the door more solidly open to reveal Hyukjae-hyung, standing barefoot holding his phone looking entirely unbothered by Changmin showing up. Too bad it’s Hyukjae-hyung, who Changmin hasn’t been able to make eye contact with without feeling like he’s done something wrong. He hasn’t, for the record. It’s just too bad that Hyukjae-hyung’s best friend in the world barring Donghae-hyung is Kim fucking Junsu.

Changmin feels an ugly scowl settle across his features.

Hyukjae-hyung very wisely says nothing.

Kyuhyun sighs. “Minho’s here,” he says. “You’re going to have to fight for the bed.”

Changmin steps into the dorm, sets his shoes on the rack, and follows Kyuhyun past the living space, Hyukjae-hyung, and Sungmin-hyung, bothering Ryeowook in the kitchen. He wants to say that he feels better when he hangs out with Kyuhyun, given they’ve started to call themselves (plus Minho and maybe Jonghyun on good days) Kyuline, but it actually makes things worse.

There are so many people here. There are always so many people.

Minho sticks a hand in the air when he sees Changmin. “Hey, boyfriend,” he says.

Changmin reaches for the nearest thing on Kyuhyun’s shelf and hurls it at him.

Minho’s lucky it’s just a CD and nothing else. “Oof,” he says anyway. “Is that any way to treat your girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” Changmin says, blushing a little. No one in Super Junior or his immediate friend group has been able to let his and Minho’s ‘scandal’ go, and Minho is the number one culprit. He finds it hilarious, and his members find it hilarious, and Changmin maybe has allowed it to go on for as long as it has only because it tends to prompt Heechul-hyung into waxing poetic about the time Yunho’s girlfriend broke up with him because of him.

Minho just smiles up at him and settles more solidly onto his newfound floor spot.

Changmin would feel bad, but given that Minho is, at present, the only one of them who’s managed to keep a band entirely together, he thinks he and Kyuhyun deserve to fight over the bed space.

Technically they’re all playing Mario Kart. Technically. Realistically, three minutes in, and Changmin’s in sixth place and Minho’s basically started collecting bombs.

Only Kyuhyun seems to be in it to win.

He does, and punches the air.

Changmin watches him and shakes his head. “You’re a simple man, aren’t you, Cho,” he says.

“You love it,” Kyuhyun retorts. “But I’m serious. What’d you two fight about this time?”

Changmin sighs.

“Changmin-hyung fought with Yunho-hyung?” Minho says, leaning back against the bed so that he can stare up at the two of them.

Changmin cuffs him in the ear, mostly because he can, but gently.

Minho whines at him, but isn’t dissuaded. “Again?”

Changmin sighs. “We’re not always fighting.”

Minho and Kyuhyun exchange a look.

“We’re not _always_ fighting,” Changmin protests again. “We’re just having trouble fitting again.”

His friends look like they’re not quite sure what to do with this side of him. The mature cognizant of his failures side of him. The side of him that thinks maybe he should go back to the dorm and actually sit down and _talk_ with Yunho.

They’re too busy for that. They’re too busy to really fight, honestly.

Changmin sets the controller down on the bed next to him and sighs. “Comebacks are exhausting.”

Kyuhyun and Minho are looking at each other over him again, but Changmin doesn’t even care.

“Did you know that SM wants us to do fanservice?” Changmin makes a face.

There’s a squabble somewhere to his left, complete with whispers, fake punches, and the sounds of flesh connecting with flesh.

“Well.” It sounds like Minho’s lost. “To be fair, that is sort of the game.”

Changmin lifts his head and eyes the two of them a little.

Kyuhyun mimes sealing his lips. “I can’t comment,” his friend says. “We’re masters at it.”

Changmin rolls his eyes. “They want me to be like. The _younger_ one, or something.” He picks at Kyuhyun’s duvet cover, unravels a fray and then feels bad, and tries to fix it with too short nails.

Kyuhyun just lets him.

“I mean you are the younger one?” Minho says, entirely missing the point.

He gets smacked again.

“Ow.” Minho rubs at his arm. “You’re both mean.”

“Deal with it,” Changmin and Kyuhyun chorus.

Minho flips them off.

“Are you going home later, you think?” Kyuhyun says finally, once their silences have gotten a little stale. Usually, they’re good to just sit and think. It’s probably counter to what every thinks about them, but seclusion is nice, sometimes, and sitting alone with people you love and your own thoughts is something that Changmin is never going to go back on. Although given he’s spent most of this year sitting alone with _only_ his thought, sometimes he thinks silence is okay.

Right now, though, the silence between Kyuline and him is comforting; the one waiting for him at home, where Yunho’s no doubt pouring over their music program schedules and fussing over the logistics of signing with Seven & I Holdings, not so much.

Changmin’s kind of dreading it.

Kyuhyun is still waiting for an answer.

“I have to.” Changmin sits up, crosses his legs at the ankle, and stares down hard at his toes. They’re bruised and tender looking from all the new choreography and the new shoes, but he’s seen the final edits on _Keep Your Head Down_ , and he’s actually a little excited about it. There’s a lot of his chest out, however, and while that’s fine now--when he’s too busy and too nervous for eating properly, Changmin worries about what he’ll have to do in the future.

“Yah.” Kyuhyun pokes him. “Stop thinking about your non-existent abs.”

“My abs are very existent, thank you,” snaps Changmin, flushing only slightly because unlike Yunho and him, Kyu and he don’t have any sort of telepathic connection, which means most likely he’s been staring at his own tits for the better half of a minute.

“Yeah, okay.” Kyuhyun rolls his eyes. “Stop thinking about your existent abs, then.”

Changmin sticks his nose in the air. “You’re just jealous they’re not letting you strip off for your next comeback,” he says.

Kyuhyun’s mouth pulls. “If we get a next comeback,” he says.

Changmin feels bad. He knows that Suju’s had it rough too. Minho probably deserves an award, having had to deal with both Kyuhyun and Changmin wallowing through the loss of members and the end of eras and, now, wonderfully, the stress of prepping for a comeback that Changmin is still not entirely sold on.

He can’t even explain that to Kyuline, though, so he settles for gently patting Kyuhyun on the arm. It’s all rather embarrassing and quieting and the only way to end it, they decide, is to play more Mario Kart.

Changmin gets back to the dorm later than he should, to find Yunho hasn’t gone out to wander the subways this close to their comeback, and that the company is sending Changmin to Japan to do more magazine shoots.

“And together,” Yunho explains, “ _Elle Girl_?”, but Changmin is too tired to do more than nod, trust his manager will get him to the airport on time, and they go to bed without addressing any of their issues.

\--

Later that month, they’re called in for the jacket shoot for the album. The videos done, the album is done, the songs are recorded, the choreographies are learned, and come January, TVXQ will be making a comeback. Now comes the album jacket. The styling.

They’d settled on a lot of it before the video. Cut off suits, black outfits that Changmin swears were made of trash bags but his stylists had shook their heads at him and threatened to lower the neckline on his suits even more. The album shoot is supposed to be simpler, though.

T-shirts. Gold plated jewelry.

A minimalistic background that the two of them can sit against and touch or whatever.

Changmin fights them tooth and nail, heart pounding, because he can see where this is going clear as day.

“No fanservice,” he bites out, knowing full well that they won’t let it go. How can they not. There are only two of them--two of them who stayed _together_ , against all odds--and so of course they want fanservice. They want something to keep people talking, in case the song doesn’t.

Changmin knows it’s about a breakup and he knows that how he and Yunho want to play it. Changmin also knows that the lyrics are particularly scathing, and that the fight choreography has them pulling at each other’s clothes and snarling into each other’s faces.

The fight choreography is one of their finest moments, Changmin thinks. In the MV, it hadn’t come across nearly as intense as it does every day in practice.

This is what he tells the managers and the PR team, even though he can tell no one cares, or is listening, or is even going to make a note of it.  Fanservice is part of the package, and so come tomorrow, Changmin is expected to drape himself over top Yunho and smile for the cameras, because that’s what the company wants.

It makes his stomach hurt, and his skin crawl, and he hates it.

He hates it so much he climbs straight into Yunho’s bed that night, steals most of the pillows, none of the blankets, and spends precious minutes staring at the blur of what he thinks is Yunho’s left cheekbone.

“Why are you so against fanservice, though,” Yunho says finally, when it becomes clear neither of them are going to sleep. He sounds tired and Changmin almost feels bad. Then he lights up one finger, and presses it gently to the set of bruises on Changmin’s left bicep. He’d fallen earlier, a careless stumble in practice that had ended with shoulder twisting and their staff frowning.

Star-healing is something Changmin feels like they’re cheating with, particularly since there’s no guaranteeing that Yunho’s going to keep glowing--and healing is actually damn healthy--but Changmin is too tired and it feels too lovely for him to ask Yunho to stop.

“Changmin-ah?” Yunho’s not letting it go.

Changmin sighs, and waits for him to put the light out. “I’ve always hated fanservice,” he says. “You know that.”

“We were always getting left out,” Yunho points out. “How would I know that?”

“I hated it when the rest of you did fanservice,” Changmin says, and his words are biting, but they’re also only half the truth. “I could never tell when you turned it off.”

He’s expecting Yunho to laugh at him, or shake his head at him, or even tilt an ear to one side in confusion, because Changmin’s making no sense. He’s not expecting to get stared at, Yunho’s mouth parted, eyes taken-aback, and hurt blooming high on his cheekbones.

“What?” Changmin feels like he’s misstepped. “I mean sometimes it was rather obvious,” he concedes, because it’s dark, and Yunho can’t see him, nor the ache in his chest that’s starting to feel like a full-grown chasm, worthy of memorial and tour guides. “But sometimes it was hard to tell what was for show and what wasn’t, you know.”

There’s a pun there. A joke about Yunho’s stage name.

Neither of them take it.

Yunho is silent for a long, long time. Changmin wonders if he knows he’s started petting the top of Changmin’s head again. Like they’re teenagers. Like they’ve woken from nightmares, and Changmin’s finished threatening to tell everyone Yunho’s real name is essentially ‘the boob.’

“I can’t have that with you,” Changmin admits, into the quiet of their safe space. A month out from debut, curled together in a too small bed, while outside them a world storms and a fanbase rends raggedly in two.

“I would never lie to you,” Yunho says, voice very small.

“You already have,” Changmin replies, equally small, and then turns over so the conversation ends.

Yunho’s hand slips out of his hair, but it doesn’t matter.

The photographer doesn’t push for more than a side hug tomorrow morning, but it doesn’t matter.

\--

The day before their comeback, Junsu breaks his silence. He does it through Twitter, which is public, and the rest of their company comes together in TVXQ’s defense. Changmin still spends the rest of the day in and out of PR meetings, holding his phone like a lifeline in one hand. He hasn’t changed numbers yet. He probably should. Yunho has--Yunho changed his number after the first court meeting, when he came home stone-faced, and systematically closed all the doors to the empty rooms in the dorm.

“It’s stupid,” he tells Kyuhyun, over a late-night drink to ease his nerves. It’s all smoke and mirrors. Even though it’s hypocritical, there’s absolutely no way Yunho won’t know if Changmin’s drunk so close to a comeback, and absolutely no way he’ll get away with it.

“What’s stupid?”

“Junsu.” Hyukjae-hyung’s out and the walls aren’t thin enough for Changmin to feel bad for being quite so rude. “Didn’t text us at all. Just. Tweeted about it. And he _knows_ better.”

“Ah.” Kyu doesn’t have a comeback the next morning, has uncorked a particularly nice red, and his cheeks are going pink.

Changmin is reminded of Yunho, and that is enough to put a sour taste in his mouth. Who needs fermented grapes when one has arrogant asshole of a bandmate, after all.

“I should change my number,” Changmin continues, staring down at the floor. “It’s stupid not to change my number. We’re about to be famous again, and everyone know not to keep a number for more than a year when you’re _famous_.” He rolls his eyes. There’s a scuff mark on Kyuhyun’s floor that he thinks is his fault. He thinks it’s from a month ago, when he was demonstrating choreography to Kyuhyun and Minho, only, he was drunk, he’d been dared to balance a dictionary on his head, and the move had ended up looking less like a Shim Jaewon designed masterpiece and more like the mating dance of some rare bird.

“Changmin.” Kyuhyun sounds serious, suddenly. “Are you sure you want this?”

Changmin feels a little like he’s got whiplash. “The wine?” he tries after a mild pause. He tears his eyes from the floor, notes Kyuhyun’s got his phone in his hands, and then goes back to the floor.

Kyuhyun doesn’t take the bait. “TVXQ,” he elaborates. “With just you and Yunho-hyung.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Changmin does. Changmin wants it no less than he did a year back, than he did _eight_ years back. The part of him that woke him at three in the morning to wish on a not even shooting star is still going strong, eight years on, even though he knows, in the darkest corners of himself, that his wish may doom him. And Yunho. Perfect, shining, doesn’t know how to use toothpaste Jung Yunho, who’s not even from this planet, who didn’t do anything wrong except listen to the wrong stupid boy.

Jung Yunho who is here, standing in the doorway standing behind Leeteuk-hyung, who doesn’t even live on this floor, but who has, no doubt, been set on Changmin-watch duty.

No doubt, once Junsu started stirring the pot, and Sungmin-hyung and Donghee-hyung bought in, Leeteuk-hyung got several strongly worded messages from SM and Yunho and probably all their manager-hyungs.

Changmin still shoots Kyuhyun a particularly betrayed look.

“You were staring at a spot on the floor like you could commit murder with your eyes,” his friend explains, still holding onto his traitor phone. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Changmin says. Kyuhyun’s a fast texter; Yunho’s a slow driver; Teukie-hyung isn’t psychic. Planning was involved. Betrayal is evident.

“No, I’m not,” Kyuhyun says. “Chwang.”

Yunho still hasn’t said anything, is still standing in the doorway wearing shoes, and Changmin latches onto that like a lifeline.

“Hyung,” he says. “This isn’t even _our_ apartment.”

Yunho startles, seemingly drawn out of his thoughts, and smiles, the idiot.

Changmin is fucking _charmed_ , dammit. He scowls even harder.

“Sorry, Changdol.”

“You don’t sound particularly _sorry_ ,” Changmin snaps. He turns towards Teukie-hyung, bowing his head a little. “Sorry.”

Teukie-hyung just smiles as well, shaking his head a little. He nudges Yunho in the side with an elbow. “I’m starting to see what Heechul means when he says you’re married,” he says.

Changmin’s scowl could cut glass.

Yunho raises both hands, finally moving. He takes a step into Kyuhyun’s room, squeaks a shoe on the hardwood flooring, winces, and then takes a step back. “Sorry, Changdol,” he says again.

Changmin lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He feels like every emotion is written across his face in light up writing. “It’s fine,” he says, even though it isn’t. Even though it’s not even up to him. It’s Kyuhyun’s dorm. Who knows where Yunho’s shoes have been. All the way around Seoul, if the slightly haggard look to him is anything to go by.

His hands are shaking, stiff by his sides, and he’s only got a threadbare t-shirt on under the leather jacket. And jeans.

Changmin narrows his eyes. “Did you walk here?”

Yunho won’t meet his gaze.

“Great.” Changmin fights off a nasty laugh. “How are we supposed to get home?”

“You could stay here?” Kyuhyun and Teukie-hyung try to say, but Yunho is already shaking his head.

“We’ll call Manager-hyung,” he says.

“It’s late,” says Changmin. “We can’t call Manager-hyung.”

“We’ll walk,” Yunho concedes.

“It’s January,” says Changmin.

“We’ll huddle?”

Changmin pictures that before he can help himself, eyes the state of Yunho’s hands, imagines walking down the street holding those hands, and giggles.

Yunho’s eyes narrow this time.

“He didn’t drink,” Kyuhyun protests. “We were good.”

Changmin sobers, still feeling a little bit ragged, and nods.

Yunho doesn’t look like he quite believes them.

Changmin really doesn’t give a fuck, however.

“Call manager-hyung,” he says.

Yunho sighs. “Fine.” He looks like he wants to say more.

Changmin can’t right now. “Pretend I’m drunk,” he says, getting to his feet and moving past Yunho and Teukie-hyung. Super Junior’s leader has taken a step back, looking wary. Changmin feels more laughter bubbling below his calm façade.

“Changminnie.” Yunho is following him, stepping carefully across the floor, glancing back apologetically at Teukie-hyung and Kyuhyun as he does so.

Changmin’s jaw tightens. “It’s fine, Hyung,” he says. “We’ll be fine.”

Yunho is quiet for the length of time it takes for Changmin to get his shoes on, lift a hand in Kyuhyun’s direction, and let Teukie-hyung usher them out. He waits with them at the elevator, chewing on his bottom lip, and Yunho apologizes for the shoes in hushed tones.

Changmin stares at a spot on the floor, his phone on fire in his pocket. He knows neither of them have contacted manager-hyung. He wonders if they’re going to get away with it.

“It’s fine, Yunho-yah,” Teukie-hyung says finally. “It’s late and you were worried.”

Changmin barks out a laugh, feels immediately bad, and won’t meet either of their eyes.

Teukie-hyung’s elevator comes first.

Changmin watches the lights above the doors flicker and change. “We’re not calling Manager-hyung, are we,” he sighs.

Yunho thumbs the button for the elevator rather pointlessly.

Changmin sets his shoulder back. “Right.”

Yunho knocks their shoulders together. “You don’t want to take a walk, Changdol?”

Changmin glowers at him, holding his bicep protectively. “It’s January,” he repeats. “We’re going to get mugged.”

“It’s late,” Yunho argues. “No one will notice.”

“People will notice,” Changmin retorts. “And _you_ will get mugged.”

Yunho turns out his pockets. “I don’t have anything,” he says. “Just my phone.”

Changmin stares at him with his mouth open, horror mounting with every second. “Where are your keys?”

Yunho looks away suddenly, looking almost angry at himself. He swipes at his bangs, fluffy and soft against his temples. It’s a striking contrast to how he’d looked hours later, done up in full stage makeup for last minute touchups. Changmin doesn’t know what to do with him.

“Hyung,” he says.

Yunho’s lips pull down at the corners. “I usually have Manager-hyung come get me,” he concedes.

Changmin hadn’t asked about the walks, because Changmin hadn’t thought his place. Changmin had been too busy pushing himself into Kyuline, therapy, and pretending the fact that he might have ruined Yunho’s stupid Star life wasn’t eating him alive. Now he feels even worse for it. In September, when Yunho was going out constantly, it wasn’t nearly that bad. Now, in winter, Changmin feels like even more of a failure.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Yunho takes Changmin’s hand as the elevators arrive, steps them both in without checking to see if it’s going down.

Changmin doesn’t startle, but he doesn’t let go of Yunho’s hand either. He doesn’t hold it back either, though, but Yunho doesn’t seem bothered.

“This could be our last time to go out unnoticed,” he says.

That warrants a reaction. “We’re still famous, Hyung,” Changmin points out. He has a sudden and terrible urge to give Yunho’s hand a squeeze.

“We’re going to be even _more_ famous,” Yunho says, and for once, Changmin actually believes him. But then the doubt is back, nagging and probing and like darkness against Changmin’s very soul.

He swallows.

“I want this, Changminnie,” Yunho says, grip going tight on Changmin’s hand, and light glowing in between them in the cramped space. “I really _fucking_ do.” Eleven floors have never felt so long. Yunho squeezes Changmin’s hand twice in quick succession.

Changmin squeezes back, but doesn’t answer him.

That’s probably progress.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO UH. IF YOUR HEART HURTS. GO READ [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11795826) IT'S LIKE 7K OF HONEYMOON HOMIN. 
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/164218817455/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-297-k) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/897495120379076608)
> 
> Reblogs/Retweets/Comments are my favorite I'll love you forever!


	5. wish five: for new beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol is it Tuesday I’m sorry I can’t read. Yeah so, basically, I wrote [this thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12017049), Changmin discharged, my internet provider SUCKS and real life reared it’s ugly head and stalled this thing greatly. But we should be back on a decent schedule soon hopefully. I’m not committing to anything, cause, well, I'm in a weird place re this fic BUT. HOPEFULLY IT SHOULD GO WELL AND WORK OUT. 
> 
> Betaed by Aixing (who is sooo lovely) and Debs and also by Poppy. Minor consultations by Loubear, who is the best cheerleader ever. All other mistakes are my own.

 

**wish five: for new beginnings**

\--

They make the executive decision not to mention it, and then, seemingly weeks later, they have to mention it. It’s after their first all kill on the music programs (not counting _Music Core_ ), and Changmin is mostly glad to be out of the costumes, even though he hasn’t cut himself since the 14th. They’re both in matching sweats and t-shirt combos--Beat Burger made--and bundled up in giant coats, shoved into a waiting company van, and Kyungjae-hyung turns to them having finished booking them for _Knee Drop Guru_ with Kang Hodong.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it, though,” Changmin says. He’s the first to speak.

Yunho’s exhausted at his side, breath still coming with difficulty because he still hasn’t recovered from the cold, but he nods his head in agreement.

Kyungjae-hyung’s lips purse. “You have to talk about it,” he says. “You talked about the song already. You talked about _geese_ already.”

Changmin’s lips thin. “That was different,” he says, not touching on that unfortunate press conference. “That was about the song.”

“You only have to talk about it once,” Kyungjae-hyung says, changing tactics. He sounds about as excited about the prospect as the two of them. “And Kang Hodong-ssi is a friend.”

“A friend,” Changmin says.

“What exactly do we have to say?” interjects Yunho, finally speaking.

“Nothing too specific,” says Kyungjae-hyung, shooting Changmin a quick glance. He looks relieved he didn’t have to force the issue.

Yunho seems to mull that over, while Changmin forces his hands into a ball in his lap. He’s itching for a fight, but that’s probably because _Keep Your Head Down_ always ends in a fight, even though they’d won the program this time and they should be celebrating.

“Just your feelings on the issue.”

“Our feelings on the issue,” Changmin says, finally weighing in. “Not our real ones, I’d think.”

Kyungjae-hyung lets out a long breath. “Changmin-ah,” he scolds, voice low.

At his side, Yunho stiffens. “When is it?”

“Next month. After your birthdays,” Kyungjae-hyung says.

Changmin adds that to his schedule, in between touch ups on _Paradise Ranch_ and forcing himself on Kyuline and the grueling rehearsals that means they’re actually doing this. They’re actually coming back. The company has already started to push for a second single, they’re due to be in and out of Japan for CF filming, and free time is starting to become a luxury.

“No one wants you to air the whole issue,” Kyungjae-hyung is saying, when Changmin stops longing for sleep and turns his attention back to the subject at hand. “But you can’t stay silent.”

“They’ve certainly been loud enough for the both of us,” Changmin says, under his breath.

Yunho puts a hand on his knee, warm, solid, and probably meant to be calming.

Changmin shoves it off, heart pounding, and regrets taking the seat next to him in the van.

“Fine,” Yunho says.

“They want you to come in for prep,” Kyungjae-hyung says finally, and at last his unease makes more sense.

“No,” Changmin says, putting his foot down.

Yunho’s manager balks--no doubt this is _his_ line in the sand.

“No--the fans will see straight through that.”

“You’re going to sound rehearsed anyway,” Kyungjae-hyung points out.

Changmin winces, fully aware that that’s true. He and Yunho had sat down a week ago, after their first appearance back, after the press had started latching on to the lyrics of the song, and after Junsu’s tweets had made everything painfully present. They’d gone over the issue--what they were going to say, what they were _not_ going to say, and they’d even managed to dance around the elephant in the room spectacularly. No one had started shouting at each other about the fact that choices were important and truthfulness was essential in a relationship like theirs.

No one had ended up going to bed livid.

“That may be,” Yunho says, voice diplomatic and sounding every bit like the leader he’s had to step up and be. “But at least we’ll sound _truthful_.”

Changmin scoffs unable to help himself. Truthful.

Yunho shoots him a sharp look.

He meets his eyes head on, lips curling back.

Kyungjae-hyung sighs, giving in. “Fine.”

The two of them turn to look at him, and the man stares back, looking drained.

“Fine,” Changmin parrots, feeling a little vindictive. “Are we doing anything _else_ on _Knee Drop Guru_?”

Kyungjae-hyung shakes his head, lips twitching despite himself, and reaches out to cuff Changmin on the head. “Yah,” he says. “Behave.”

“When has Changmin _ever_ behaved?” Yunho says, voice teasing and low.

Changmin would snap back at him, but he’s feeling forgiving. “You’re just upset because they keep making you do all the talking.”

Yunho snorts. “You mean _you_ make me do all the talking.”

Changmin tries out a smile back. This is familiar. This is how they were all like before. Teasing, taunting, and above all else honest. “You’re the leader.”

Yunho looks torn--like he wants to agree but also _doesn’t_ want to agree--and then like he can’t quite figure out what to do with that. It makes Changmin intimately aware of how awkward things are when they try to figure out who does what. They’re partners now, because they have to be, but for eight years Changmin was silent and funny and followed. Now he’s expected to lead--and lead alongside U Know Yunho, no less--and more often than not he ends up not so much as ceding microphones as he is forcefully giving them away.

Changmin scowls, good mood spoiled.

Yunho retreats into himself, somewhat chastened.

Kyungjae-hyung darts uneasy eyes between the two of them. “You have got to stop doing that,” he says.

“We’re fine on camera,” Yunho says, voice pleasant, but going a little bit tight.

Kyungjae-hyung doesn’t heed the warning. “You’re _worse_ on camera,” he says.

“No _fanservice_ ,” Changmin snaps back, done with the conversation. “I will not be _him_.” His lips pull back, his eyes go dark, and he can feel the embarrassment coming off himself in waves. _Fuck_. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. He hadn’t meant to go there. They’d been very good about it, about not addressing it, or thinking about the fans with obvious banner messages.

It had been, like all things, another elephant in the room.

Now it’s in the open.

Thankfully, no one touches it--content to let the beast rumble off in search of water, or something. Maybe it’s lost a child. Maybe the _she’s_ lost a child, since Changmin had watched a nature documentary on his last plane ride to Japan, and while at the time he’d mostly laughed himself silly that it had to be about _elephants_ , it’s stuck in his mind.

“Did you know elephants are matriarchal,” Yunho says, seemingly out of the middle of nowhere, and his voice sounds so straightforward and even that Changmin has to laugh.

Because even in the midst of all the secrets and not talking, they’re still painfully in sync with each other.

Kyungjae-hyung looks between the two of them with a look of utter bafflement, but takes the fact that they’re giggling together as the gift that it is, and is silent for the rest of their drive home.

\--

 _Knee Drop Guru_ ends up being fun, actually. Changmin’s favorite topic is Yunho’s less than stellar beginnings, in part because he’s still not fully convinced they’re not some elaborate lie, and also because he’s not fully convinced time travel isn’t real. It helps that his own origin story is completely counter to Yunho’s which both makes for good variety and gets him a foot in the door to his second favorite topic: how much of an utter _dick_ Yunho was when they first met.

The bit about JYJ is sobering and exhausting and couldn’t go slower if it tried, but at least the set is closed, no fans have been let in, and what little staff have been permitted in nod approvingly at the end of it.

They let them take a break after that--to regroup, watch some of the takes, and, probably, to ease the noticeable tension that only been mounting as Yunho and Changmin were forced to stumble through very serious discussions of how they felt about the fact that their three closest friends had essentially left them to burn in a netizen firestorm.

On the break, Yunho corners Changmin by a water fountain, holding an empty water bottle and frowning. “Why do you always have to talk about how mean I was to you?” he says.

Changmin’s mostly thankful that they’re not still talking about the split. “You were fabulously mean to me, though,” he says instead finishing with the water and taking Yunho’s bottle without even looking up. He punches a thumb against the spout, watching the water collect in the bottle.

Yunho’s been doing that lately--bringing water bottles with him to sets, and then going to fill them when they’re done.

Changmin tries not to notice, and when that doesn’t work, tries to be the only one around when their staff brings them drinks in between takes.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Yunho says finally, once the bottle is about halfway full.

Changmin takes a moment to rearrange the conversation in his mind. He fails. “What?”

“You specifically told me you didn’t want it,” Yunho explains. “Being mean to you was the best way to get you to want it.”

Changmin takes more moments to rearrange _that_ in his mind. He doesn’t fail, which is even worse. “Yah,” he doesn’t know what to say. “Hyung.”

Yunho has the decency to look apologetic. “Oh, are we still pretending I wasn’t doing everything on purpose?” he says. He shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry.”

Changmin narrows his eyes, finishes with the water bottle, caps it, and then points menacingly into the center of Yunho’s chest with the hand holding it. “You’re a liar,” he says. “You said that to me because you were jealous.”

He’s expecting to get a denial in response, but instead he just gets Yunho’s lips parting, eyes widening, and an almost childish wonder lighting up his features.

Changmin has a sinking feeling.

“I’m really glad we stayed, Changminnie,” Yunho says. “You really do know me better than anyone.”

Changmin’s cheeks burn. “What?”

Yunho takes his water bottle back with almost reverent hands, dipping his head a little in what Changmin thinks is a bow, but can’t be a bow, because Yunho’s older, they’re in public, and it most of all it makes _no damn sense_.

“Yah. What. Hyung.”

Yunho smiles at him, fond. “Don’t be late back to set.”

“Yah,” Changmin says again, helpless. “Yunho-hyung.”

He gets another one of those incredibly fond and squirm-inducing smiles, before Yunho turns and walks back into the studio.

A manager pokes a head out the door a moment later, eyes lighting up when he sees Changmin. He beckons. “Changmin-ah!”

Changmin cocks him a panicked look.

“They need you on set.”

“Right,” Changmin tells himself. “Right, okay.”

He goes back inside.

Kang Hodong latches onto Yunho’s desire for male fans and recommends they both enlist.

\--

The show is set to air March, right around the time Changmin’s impromptu Kyuline panic attack gets airtime on one of Suju’s shows. Probably Changmin should spend the end of February nervous about that, but mostly he’s too busy juggling two sets of choreography in two different languages. They’ve signed a deal with a credit card company, which means the day after they wrap on ‘Before U Go,’ the two of them will be on a flight to Japan to dance to ‘I Don’t Know’ with a silver bear.

Both dances are kind of a lot, so Changmin spends most of his free time in studios, asleep, or practicing elaborate hip gyrations.

“Gyrations,” Kyuhyun says, tone incredibly dry, the night before the MV shoot.

Changmin’s in the bathroom, it’s early enough to be tomorrow, and Kyuhyun has been in and out of Super Show rehearsals all week.

“Or body rolls?” Changmin says, cocking his head to the side and giving his half-assed attempts at the ‘Before You Go’ dance a few considering looks.

If he blinks, he can almost imagine the look on Kyuhyun’s face. As it stands, all he’s getting is yawns and sarcasm.

“Body rolls,” parrots Kyuhyun.

“Are you dying again?” Changmin says, with only slight pause. They can do that now. It’s been long enough that it’s fine.

“I’m tired,” his best friend whines, and there’s the telltale rustle of fabric as he falls back on the bed.

“I have to film an elaborate music video tomorrow,” retorts Changmin, unimpressed. “And then we have to actually film the dance bit.”

Kyuhyun groans like he’s smothering himself with the pillow. “You don’t have to brag about it.” He sounds actually miffed, so Changmin lifts his phone off the bathroom sink and leaves the mirror, careful to flick the lights off and tiptoe past Yunho’s door. He heads for the kitchen, suddenly thirsty.

“What do you mean ‘brag’? Do you think Ara-ssi is hot or something?” Changmin says. He pulls open the fridge, fishes out an energy drink, and has just finished uncapping it when someone clears their throat.

It’s Yunho, because of course it’s Yunho, but Changmin still yelps, drops his phone, and maybe snorts a full mouthful of energy drink up his left nostril.

He ends up coughing rather pitifully with both eyes watering, while Kyuhyun audibly loses his shit on the floor.

To his credit, Yunho just lifts one brow and remains seated at their kitchen table.

Changmin manages to clear his airways and takes desperate gasping breaths, before reaching down to silence his phone. He’ll text Kyuhyun later letting him know that he hasn’t died and that Yunho needs a fucking bell.

“Hyung,” Changmin gets out. “You startled me.”

Yunho’s eyebrow had seemed like it was coming down, but now it goes up again. “I live here too, Changmin.”

He’s obviously misunderstood. Changmin bristles despite himself. It feels like they’re doing a lot of that--misunderstanding.

“Nice to see you care about my wellbeing,” he says.

Yunho just blinks at him, unbothered. “You weren’t going to die,” he says.

Changmin stares back at him, bothered. “Is this a Star thing?”

Yunho colors slightly. “No, I just. You cursed a lot.”

Changmin blinks.

“If you can talk you can breathe, my mom always used to say,” says Yunho.

Changmin reaches for the energy drink, taken aback. “You don’t need to breathe,’ he says. “Your mom doesn’t need to breathe.”

Yunho drops his head into both hands, yanks at the roots of his hair, and groans, loud in their incredibly still apartment.

Manager-hyung is probably still asleep in preparation for their early call time tomorrow.

Yunho remains still, almost a frozen statue of exhaustion.

Changmin has no idea what to do with him. “Um,” he says.

“I think they want me to kiss a girl, Changminnie,” Yunho says.

Changmin. Has _no idea_ what to do with that. “Okay?” he says. “Hyung. This isn’t going to turn into us making out, is it?”

Yunho’s head comes up, cheeks oddly flushed, and Changmin rather reflexively starts looking for alcohol.

“Because that would be weird, right?”

Yunho’s expression almost falls, before he schools himself. “Weird,” he says. “Right.”

Changmin almost wants to narrow his eyes. Instead, he decides to make use of this moment. “Yunho-hyung.”

He gets an odd, inscrutable look.

“Can you help me with the dance, again?”

Which is how Changmin spends the night before what is probably going to be one of their longest MV shoots ever cursing the day he ever wished on Yunho in the first place.

“You need to go lower,” Yunho says, like a sadist asshole, and Changmin wants to kill him in a fire.

“Like this?” he says, and makes a point of going all the way into basically a squat. He feels about two seconds from falling on his ass, but it’s kind of worth it because it makes the length of his legs even more apparent, and Yunho’s throat bobs.

And then Changmin falls and is _glad_ for that, because he’s basically turned on a celestial being, and for some unfathomable reason, is proud of that. Which, lends itself to the rather horrifying thought that he is, in fact, still half in love with that celestial being. Like. Would not have been opposed to making out in love earlier.

Changmin spends far longer on his ass than necessary.

“Maybe not that low,” Yunho says, overtop Changmin’s mental breakdown. “But I like what you did with your hand…” His voice trails off, thinking.

“Oh by all means, add more,” says Changmin, and he only sounds slightly like he’s had a crisis. “We’re only one day away from the shoot.”

“The acting bit,” says Yunho, entirely unbothered. “The dance is after.”

“Right,” Changmin says, because, right. “And you’re going to have to kiss Ara-ssi and not look like a complete dunce.” He gets to his feet and stomps off for his door, ears flaming, and heart doing random dance beats that are not at all in sync to ‘Before U Go,’ which is still crooning on in the background.

“Changmin!” Yunho protests, but lets him leave.

“Don’t stay up too late, Hyung,” Changmin says over his shoulder, because he can’t help himself, and because at least one of them should manage to get through make up tomorrow without being tutted at for dark circles. And given the state of his mind and body rolls, it’s not going to be Changmin for sure.

\--

They’re definitely going to make him kiss Ara-ssi. Like, Changmin had known, because the script had been pretty clear that Yunho was supposed to be dating her, but Changmin had also been slightly distracted by page five where in blocked, italicized stage directions Yunho was supposed to get shot in the leg by their supposed friend and Changmin was expected to act cool about that but also dramatically shout at the supposed friend on a building.

“Fake blood,” Yunho explains, showing up next to him after a slightly longer time through hair and makeup. He gestures down at his leg, taped up and ready for the cut.

Ara-ssi is laughing in the background, eyes alight and looking surprisingly pleasant for how cold it is.

At least three news crews are here, Changmin’s barely slept, and the first take goes better than expected, because Yunho’s acting really has improved.

Changmin’s mostly just glad he doesn’t have to linger in shot, because that’s Yunho’s _leg_ that’s been fake shot, and he can’t _imagine_ a Yunho unable to dance.

“Cut,” the director shouts, after Changmin’s done half a canter around the camera crews and come to a halt.

Yunho stops writhing instantly, Ara-ssi laughs even more, someone zooms in, and Changmin comes back to the mark after only one slightly haphazard interview. He talks about how it’s cold. He doesn’t flick his bangs out of his eyes.

Their styling for the next comeback is a color change, not a length change, and Changmin won’t lie: he’s nervous. Long hair looks fine on him, but Yunho’s hair is only getting shorter, and he has a horrifying thought that his opinions on fanservice are going to be thrown out the window when they hit Japan.

“Changmin-ah.” Kyungjae-hyung’s lips are downturned, and Changmin tries to school his features into something approximating interest. Or at least less like he’s off in his own world while Yunho giggles at the stylists and flirts blatantly with Ara-ssi.

Changmin feels a scowl and a headache creeping up behind him like a fucking bad omen.

Kyungjae-hyung frowns even harder. “Changmin,” he says. “I think Director-nim needs you.”

Changmin plasters a smile on his face, spares one last glance for Yunho and Ara-ssi, before heading back to his mark.

\--

“You see, that particular pair of underwear was on my floor, so I put them on,” Changmin hears with only one ear, still bristling a little bit from having to explain the horrors of walking in on Yunho half-dressed _wearing his underwear_.

It’s possible he’s making terrible faces. It’s possible his shoulders have visibly risen.

“But it turns out that particular pair of underwear was Changmin’s,” Yunho finishes, and Changmin can already hear the incoherent fangirl screaming.

He can’t correct Yunho, because variety show, but he can damn well see Youngja-noona’s face, and the woman has definitely cottoned on, and Changmin would bet if he looked over at Hyungjin-hyung’s face, he’d see something similar.

Yunho, at least, is earnest and well-meaning in his idiocy, so the conversation moves along somewhat decently after that.

Youngja-noona steps out to dispose of their trash and Hyungjin-hyung talks briefly about toothpaste and bathroom habits, and even though Changmin knows Yunho’s starting to get annoyed with all the focus on how bad he is at everything, Changmin still pushes it. Still rolls them from toothpaste into shoes, which backfires rather suddenly when Yunho brings up them being like a married couple.

“I keep thinking, ‘am I living with my wife?’” Yunho says.

“Nagging, gagging,” Youngjae-noona laughs.

Changmin grits his teeth and reminds himself there are at least five cameras in the damn taxi.

Kyungjae-hyung collects them from the set after they’ve finished styling and wandering around Myeongdong, filming wrapped, fans somewhat appeased, and security still hovering behind them keeping their eyes out. They get in the car moderately silent, drive for about twenty minutes without speaking either, and then finally Changmin breaks his silence.

“Hyung,” he says, turning to Yunho all the way in the car so the seat belt pulls. “What was that about my underwear being on your floor?”

Kyungjae-hyung looks up from where he’d been pouring over their schedule on an iPad, brows pulling together. “What?”

Yunho blushes a little, but holds both of their gazes, head turning this way and that, before settling on Changmin. “Well, it’s true,” he says, voice a little raspy from what sounds like a cold.

He’d been sick on and off since they started promotion in January, and getting dunked in water the day before a full day shoot with his family probably didn’t help much. And then wandering around Myeongdong--if not fun--probably had made it worse.

Changmin still doesn’t quite understand, since Yunho’d never gotten sick before the split. Mostly he’d just overexerted himself because he was an overachieving idiot not of this world. But every time he brought it up he got baleful eyes and the silent treatment, so he’d settled for perfecting sick-food and ordering their staff out to buy cold medicine.

“Your underwear _was_ in my room,” Yunho says, voice sulky but less husky now.

Changmin will give him that--only, how the underwear got on Yunho’s floor was more a product of sharing the same space and Yunho’s inability to wash his damn clothes, far less sordid and sigh inducing than their fanbase would assume come the show’s airdate.

Yunho is looking at him, arms across his chest and lips downturned. He’s still got the ugly green hat on, because they did actually buy everything for the show and Yunho fucking _loves_ hats right now. The thing should ruin his good looks, but instead they just make him look charming.

Although, at the same time, they send Changmin back two years to Gimpo airport, standing awkwardly by a water fountain, while JYJ discussed whether or not they were going to include him in their little scorched earth experiment.

It leaves Changmin making probably an unfortunate face.

Yunho just pouts back at him, seemingly unbothered.

“You didn’t have to talk about marrying me,” Changmin points out, trying to take the conversation back.

Yunho’s lips purse. He looks like he wants to apologize, but before he can, Kyungjae-hyung sets the iPad down, seemingly mollified. “That’s good,” he says. “The marriage angle works.”

“The marriage angle is annoying,” Changmin snaps before he can help himself. “Everyone thinks I’m your wife.”

Yunho’s mouth opens, no doubt to say something to the effect about how Changmin kind of acts like he is, and Changmin can feel his ears lighting up with embarrassment without his say so.

“Shut. Up,” he growls preemptively. When Kyungjae-hyung shoots him a sharp look, he adds, “Hyung.”

The whole having to be an equal but also respectful thing is getting old _very_ , _very_ fast.

To his credit, Yunho just sighs. “Sorry, Changdol,” he says, and Changmin only feels slightly like the nickname is a peace offering meant for their manager. “It’s just. Dalgona was draining.”

Changmin blinks. He leans in closer to Yunho, fully aware that Kyungjae-hyung is still squinting at them from the front seat. “What do you mean?” he asks. “Is that why you were sick? Because you had to brainwash all those people into believing you actually grew up and went to school with them?”

Yunho’s left eye is actually twitching and Changmin has never been more pleased. “No. It’s because I had a little cold, because I’m _twenty-six_ years old, and someone decided we should pour water on ourselves.”

Changmin keeps blinking at him, unable to help himself. “You’re saying that like it was my idea.”

“It was absolutely your idea,” Yunho snaps. “You’re the one who complained to PD-nim about how boring the sets had been.”

“Lies,” Changmin says. “We were about to go to a save the planet concert. Why would I suggest that we ruin the ecosystem even more by wasting a bunch of water?”

Yunho stabs a fingers into the middle of Changmin’s chest none too gently. “Your. Idea.”

Changmin reaches up and feels at the spot to make sure it’s still whole, and then, with barely a thought for their staff, stabs his own index finger into the center of Yunho’s chest. “Distracting. Me,” he says, mimicking the over-enunciating right back at Yunho and glancing down only twice because of the give of Yunho’s chest.

Yunho seems to realize what Changmin’s thinking right about the time Changmin’s mouth opens, because he squawks, goes pink, and shoves Changmin’s hands away from him. “Changmin,” he hisses.

Changmin just sinks back into his seat, pleased. “Hyung,” he says, purely for their audience.

Kyungjae-hyung heaves an audible breath and turns to start talking with Myunghwan-hyung about the latest batch of SM rookies. “I hear they’re looking to debut 13 of them next year,” the man says, casting a glance back at Changmin that isn’t at all obvious, no. “And that they’re looking for someone to manage them.”

“You know, Hyung, I love Kyungjae-hyung,” Changmin says, and swings himself around to better sprawl out across the backseat. “We should give him a raise.”

Yunho lets him spread out with narrowed eyes, still clutching at the front of his t-shirt like Changmin’s going to come for him like some sort of breast-obsessed pervert.

Changmin rolls his eyes a little, insulted.

Yunho sticks his tongue out at him and then drops his hands, knocking their knees together as he shifts out across the seats as well.

Changmin tries not to think about the heat of him or to miss the overlapping banter of other voices. It’s hard not to, though, especially in moments like this, where it’s just Yunho and him pressed against each other in three row vans. Usually they’re too busy for absence, or whatever, and usually Changmin is pleased about that; he’d hate for fondness to fester next to all the hate. But they don’t need big three-row vans anymore and the company sends them anyway. The emptiness is all the more apparent because of that.

It makes Changmin’s skin itch.

Kyungjae-hyung is still talking about the soon-to-be newbies, loud enough that if he wanted, Changmin could keep pushing at it like an errant soccer ball.

Instead, he gives up on the space, curls in on himself, and tries not to notice the burn of Yunho’s eyes on him. Their schedules are packed; sleeping in the car is a necessity.

\--

Changmin watches _Dalgona_ in between the _Music Bank_ rehearsals, backstage at _Music Bank_ itself, and because music shows are the worst and he passes out the moment he gets home, on the plane to Jeju Island the next day. He does it with his headphones in, his eyes narrowed, and Yunho spends the entire event wandering by whispering at Changmin to stop fiddling with his phone and concentrate, panting at him after  ‘Rising Sun,’ and frowning at him from the window seat, a very tired and put-upon Kyungjae-hyung stuck between the two of them playing peacemaker.

“You never answered me, though,” Changmin whispers, having hung back to follow close to Yunho off the plane, which made for a rather amusing spectacle and had Kyungjae-hyung staring up at the sky and grimacing while the flight staff cooed over Changmin’s smile and Changmin’s height etc. etc. etc.

Yunho smiles pleasantly to the flight attendant helping him with his carry on, even though he’s taller than the man by far, and there really is no need.

Changmin is struck by a rather irrational desire to step between the two of them and to grab Yunho’s bag for himself. He gives himself a metaphorical shake and continues after Yunho, pausing only briefly to grab his own bag. He’s rougher with it than Yunho would have been, but then, it’s not like that’s hard. Yunho holds all his possessions like they’re his _children_ or something.

It’s possible Changmin didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night because he had tried to set an alarm for ass o’clock in the morning to finish the stupid variety program; it’s possible Changmin needs a new alarm clock.

Yunho follows Kyungjae-hyung off the plane and towards baggage claim, sunglasses masking the state of his eyes.

Changmin follows suit, only slightly annoyed that April’s styling has featured normal glasses, so he has nothing to hide his eyes from the flashbulbs and the permanence of the internet.

“Smile,” Yunho says, out the side of his mouth. “Or at least look less like you’re going to kill me.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Changmin whines, not at all above admitting the fact that he’s whining in the middle of Jeju airport while they wait for their stage costumes to roll around the conveyor belt. 

“Changmin.” Yunho has _got_ to teach Changmin how he does the talking out the side of the mouth thing. It would be really fucking useful for moments like these, and also, it’s kind of scary. Uncanny, even. Completely and solidly _unhuman_.

“For the last time, _time travel_ ,” snaps Yunho, with just enough leader-snap for Changmin to want to drop the conversation, but his nape colors despite himself.

Changmin latches onto that like some sort of ancient warrior discovering a chink in their enemies armor. “Okay, but like, you had _teachers_.”

Their luggage arrives, their staff dart in to grab it, and Yunho takes advantage of this to turn furious eyes on Changmin. Even masked behind the sunglasses, his annoyance is palpable.

Changmin’s traitor throat closes up, his heart starts running a 5k, and his belly does a weird thing that might be arousal but _really fucking shouldn’t_ be arousal.

“Changdol-ah.”

Changmin’s not going to comment on how the nickname doesn’t inspire fear into his loins.

“For the last time.”

The disjointed nature of Yunho’s sentence is _doing things_ to Changmin’s loins.

“Time. Travel.”

Changmin lets the subject drop, for all of five minutes, because it’s only Kyungjae-hyung’s experience that keeps Changmin from losing his phone when the first thing he does upon getting into the company car is start watching _Dalgona_ again.

“Hyung,” Changmin whines, at the rehearsal. “Hyung, I’m sorry.”

Yunho just drops his sunglasses more firmly over his face and overdoes it during practice, as always.

It makes Changmin look bad to match his mood.

\--

The situation comes to head three months later, when the two of them are stretched entirely too thin and in and out of South Korea so often than Changmin’s ears are starting to be in a state of perpetual popping.

They’re in the middle of hour eight of one rather grueling dance practice, when Yunho says _something,_ Changmin shouts back something _worse_ , and one second Yunho is turning rather furious eyes on Changmin and the next Changmin is kneeling on the floor clutching his hand while Yunho very loudly panics his way through a phone call to a rather put upon Kyungjae-hyung.

“No, it’s not broken,” Yunho says, kneeling down next to Changmin and hovering, phone pressed tight to his ear as his eyes dart uselessly around the room.

Changmin flicks his hair out of his eyes, gets annoyed at how that helps _nothing_ because the company has him growing it out in preparation for Japan, and casts an ugly look at the unblemished wall that is to blame for this.

And then he turns back to Yunho, who is also to blame for this, and feels absolutely no remorse for the way Yunho flinches away from his expression.

“I think it’s just sprained,” the older man says, voice not at all hushed, and Changmin watches rather gleefully as he winces through the tirade his manager no doubt is subjecting him too.

“We can meet you out front, yeah,” Yunho continues, biting at is bottom lip and reaching out like he wants to pat Changmin on the back or something. “I’m sure it’s not broken.” He shuts his eyes briefly, hands clenching into second-long fists, before his head ducks and he bows three times in succession. “Yes, sorry. Sorry, Hyung,” Yunho says.

Changmin plops down more solidly on his ass, one leg spreading and one knee bent, and glances down at his hand. His knuckles don’t look all that affected, but his wrist twinges every time he moves it wrong.

Changmin moves it wrong. “Fuck,” he swears.

Yunho finishes up with Kyungjae-hyung in time to see this, and he worries his lip even more. “Hyung wants us out front in a ten minutes,” he says. “It’s too late to risk an ambulance.”

He means the hassle of lights and medical professionals will draw attention to them.

Changmin sighs, fully aware that this was the case. “I don’t suppose you have ice?”

Yunho ducks his head again, looking even smaller, and Changmin lets out a long breath.

“Right,” he says. “You’re not human.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for Yunho to be that small. Certainly not given how large his personality is, how his very presence on stage makes it hard for Changmin to forget that he’s an otherworldly being.  

“Sorry, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says.

“No, I’m sorry,” says Changmin, sighing. “It’s good that you ducked.”

His knuckles twinge in response to that, almost as if saying, _is it really_ , and Changmin fights the urge to give his whole hand a good sobering flex. That would _not_ be good. That might make things worse, and amazingly, he’s got a flight the next morning to Japan for _Music Bank Tokyo_.

Yunho seems to be unconvinced, but he’s not hunching quite so much anymore and has shifted forward a little so that if he wanted to--and he wants to, Changmin can see it in every earnest hitch to his breath--he could pat Changmin on the arm or something. The good arm, that is, not the one clutched to his chest.

“Honestly, Hyung, it _is_ ,” Changmin continues, only slightly worried that the pain’s fucking with him, because while it doesn’t hurt now, it had hurt like nothing else when he was punching the damn wall, and then after, when he was swearing and waving the thing around in the aftermath.

Yunho’s mouth is a thin line, and Changmin tries out a sheepish smile.

“I was aiming for your face? You’re filming tomorrow. Imagine filming with a broken nose.”

There’s a pause.

Yunho’s phone beeps, letting them know that the cavalry has arrived with a nondescript car to hurry them to the ER for a quick x-ray.

“Yah!” Yunho says, as Changmin gets to his feet and starts for the door, wincing only slightly when he realizes that putting on a hoodie would be impossible like this. “I am a _Star_ , Shim Changmin,” Yunho is still snapping from behind him, even as he gets to his feet and hurries after him. “There’s _no way_ you could break my nose--”

“It’s good that we’re going to the hospital, Hyung,” Changmin says, holding the door to the practice room open with his good arm and noting with one eye that Yunho’s not grabbed his hoodie either, so they’re both going to be rolling into the car bare armed. “You really should get that celebrity disease checked out. ‘I’m a star.’ ‘You can’t break a _star’s_ nose.’” He starts down the hallway, noting that for once they’re not alone, and feeling slightly bad when the trainees suffering in the practice rooms around them startle and bow.

“ _Changmin_!”

“Don’t worry,” Changmin says, slowing only slightly so that they fall into step next to each other by the door. “I’m sure the doctor will be able to help bring you back down to Earth.”

There’s a beat.

Yunho snickers, unable to help himself.

Changmin glances at him, chest doing funny things at the state of his hair, tousled and damp from sweat, but sticking out in all direction from all the rending he did when Changmin finished swearing long enough to get out he thought he’d broken his wrist. He’s shivering in the night air, skin breaking out in gooseflesh,

Kyungjae-hyung rushes his way from the car, eyes darting around nervously even though it’s way too late for anyone to be loitering outside the building, and hurrying the two of them into the car with only a slight pause for their outfits.

The two of them giggle the entire drive to the emergency room, and it’s a testament to how long all their staff have worked with them that all Kyungjae-hyung does is pull up their schedule and inform them that they still have to do _Music Bank Tokyo_ and that it had _better_ not be broken.

\--

It’s a sprain. This is good, because it’ll heal faster, although when Changmin comes off stage at _Music Bank Tokyo_ two days later, he glances down at the cloth splint the company (and Yunho) had insisted on and wonders if he’ll ever heal.

And then he feels bad, because the set had been grueling enough that he definitely is an open book, and the first thing he’d done upon getting the x-rays was turn hopeful eyes on Yunho, who’d retreated into himself and later stumbled his way through a half-assed explanation about length of time on earth and extenuating circumstances.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Changmin had said, mouth turned down, and had a sinking thought towards the end of 2010, when Yunho had rallied behind their shared dream and glowed again, and it had been their little secret thing, late night hand holding that was totally just because Yunho was a Star whose hands fucking _healed_ things.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Yunho had said, not meeting Changmin eyes.

“You know what would be good right about now?” Changmin says, once Yunho finishes reviewing their schedule with a manager and has wandered over to the clothing racks to get changed.

Yunho’s chest is heaving a little because it’s hot, but also because ‘Maximum’ is the worst dance in the world. He tilts his head a little and unbuttons the two buttons on his front, before shrugging out of the blazer.

Changmin pretends to be staring at the line of his mic wire and nothing else, train of thought well and truly overturned.

“What?” Yunho says, dragging Changmin back into the present.

The stylist helping Changmin out of his time has a rather knowing look on her face.

Changmin’s cheeks feel hot. His toes flex in his shoes. “Time travel,” he says promptly, and takes enormous glee in the way Yunho startles, shirtless and scowling at Changmin even as he bows to the poor stylist holding out a sweatshirt to him.

“Changmin,” he says, more a pout than anything else, and zips the thing up around his collarbones with a too loud purr.

Changmin just shrugs out of his dress shirt and tugs on his own jacket, stifling a yawn behind his injured hand. It twinges a little, and he winces.

Yunho goes from pouting to apologetic in about three seconds flat.

Changmin’s train of thought rises from the ashes and steamrolls its way across a mountain range. “You should go back to 2010 and tell past me that muscle ache from practice is an important part of being famous,” he tells Yunho, smiling to their stylists and heading over towards their bags.

Yunho follows after him, hoisting his own bag up onto his shoulder, and then, without even pausing, helping Changmin hoist his own.

“I’m not an invalid,” Changmin says, even though he kind of is.

Yunho meets his eyes, entirely unbothered.

It makes Changmin antsy for a fight, so he very wisely leashes his tongue. “I just mean it would be much more useful _now_ \--” He not so subtly looks down at Yunho’s hand, wrapped neatly around his bag up by his chest-- “than then, when the most I was suffering from was your perfectionism.”

There’s a pause.

Changmin worries he’s overstepped his boundaries, but then Yunho grins back at him, seemingly much more at ease with the bantering. But then, they’ve always been good at bantering.

He sobers almost instantly, looking almost guilty, and Changmin remembers rather abruptly that there’s a reason they’ve been wary of banter. “I’m sorry, Changmin,” he says.

Changmin’s flight or fight instincts are saying get out now. “Yeah, okay, Hyung,” he says making for the door quickly. “For the last time it’s not your fault.”

“No, I know,” Yunho says, following Changmin like some sort of lost dog, which is an unfair comparison, really, since they’re going the same way, to the same car, to the same airport, to the same apartment in South Korea, as always. “I just mean. I’m sorry, Changmin.”

Changmin looks back over his shoulder at him, brow furrowed. “For what?”

Yunho doesn’t answer, just ducks his head.

“Coward,” Changmin says out loud, and doesn’t even feel sorry about it.

A month later, when they’re in back-to-back practices for ‘B.U.T.’ and the choreography is going to _kill Changmin_ , he kind of feels sorry about it.

But teasing Yunho’s become sort of second nature at this point, so mostly he just sticks to the dancers, flicks his hair out of his eyes, and worries a little about doing A-Nation by themselves.

He really needn’t have. A-Nation goes brilliantly.

\--

The fight is not one of their finest moments. It happens at one of their finest moments--about to fly to New York for a fashion show and also to do some brand work with Lacoste--but the fight itself is petty, unnecessary, and brutal.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Changmin ends us snarling, holding a tube of toothpaste in one hand and a towel in another. His socks are soaked through, they’re not even going to be on the same plane at this rate, because Changmin’s got a last minute meeting about SM Town, or whatever, and Yunho is free as a bird to fly off to New York whenever the hell he likes.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Yunho says back-- _says_ , back and Changmin drops the toothbrush and toothpaste on the floor with a too-loud clatter.

Yunho’s face goes ashen, no doubt because his _toothbrush_ is _on their bathroom floor_ , but Changmin doesn’t even feel bad, because his _socks are soaked_ and also their floors would be spotless if it weren’t for the fact that Yunho keeps wearing his shoes inside.

“Am I?” he tells Yunho, because he feels like he should. “I am going to be _late_.”

Yunho’s got large framed glasses on and his hair is half styled because their staff and stylists are still milling around in their living room, whispering and worrying about the fact that Changmin and Yunho, instead of rushing off to their prospective appointments--Incheon, SM, _real life_ \--are snarling at each other in hushed tones in a bathroom.

“You are making a big deal out of _nothing_ ,” Yunho repeats, and his voice isn’t louder but it’s darker, and Changmin feels his hackles rise automatically.

Yunho always does this. Gets tetchy and stubborn and usually their fights end with neither of them speaking to each other in private and what little speaking together they do on camera looking ugly and tense.

They haven’t had a screaming fight in months though, because they’ve been too busy for it. Changmin is tired, not at all in the mood to be extremely jet lagged in a foreign country parading around fucking _handbags,_ or whatever, and Yunho’s inability not to track water everywhere or leave their toothpaste--which is really _Changmin’s_ toothpaste, because it’s not like Yunho ever thinks to buy more when he runs out--in the fucking shower is the _worst_ thing to ever happen in Changmin’s life.

“You are _the worst_ Star on this entire planet,” Changmin snarls, done with the conversation. His phone is blowing up because his car was here three minutes ago and his meeting started five minutes ago.

“I am _the only_   Star on this entire planet,” retorts Yunho, and Changmin is ugly laughing before he can stop himself.

“Always have to have the last word, don’t you,” he says, leaving the bathroom with his hands clenches at his side. He doesn’t shove Yunho into the bathroom sink on his way out, but that’s only because Yunho’s dress shirt is white and there will be HD photos of him at Incheon.  

“Shim Changmin,” Yunho says darkly as Changmin passes by.

Changmin ignores him. “I’ll see you in New York,” Changmin replies and goes to pull on his shoes. His manager is standing in the doorway with his hand raised to knock when Changmin tugs the door open. “I’m ready, let’s go,” Changmin says, and doesn’t look back at Yunho once.

He bows out of the store event later that night in New York claiming jet lag and spends most of the fashion show smiling at designers and focusing all his attention on anything but Yunho, who glowers at his side when the cameras are off.

Changmin comes out of the Lacoste fashion show with the itchings of brand deals with high-end European fashion labels, what feels like a permanent migraine from smiling too hard into high flash cameras, and an almost visceral distaste for alligators.

“Crocodile,” says Yunho out of the side of his mouth, and it’s a testament to how in sync they are in their exhaustion that he’s even been able to realize what Changmin had been grimacing at, and that Changmin doesn’t drag him across the coals for bad research because it is most definitely _not_ a crocodile.

They take separate flights back to Korea because they can, and only make up when they’ve landed and gotten told off for wasting company expenses.

“You are nearly thirty years old,” Kim-ssi snaps, entirely unimpressed and sounding incredibly busy through the phone. “Act like it.”

Yunho bows even though the man can’t see them, and Changmin breathes through his nose.

“We’re sorry, Seonsaengnim,” Yunho says, elbowing Changmin hard in the side.

Changmin bows as well and apologizes also.

“Fine.” Their CEO sounds unconvinced. “Do better in Japan.”

In Japan, Changmin makes sure to be _extra_ domestic in all the stories he tells, first on purpose, and then a few times by accident when one of their MCs is young, beautiful, and recently married.

“Don’t you share things with your husband?” Changmin asks and has to work very hard not to smirk when he sees Kyungjae-hyung over in the corner behind the camera, face buried in one hand.

At his side, Yunho’s shoulders very subtly stiffen.

“Changminnie sleepwalks,” he says next interview. “Sometimes he hits me.”

“I probably wasn’t sleeping,” Changmin says and takes great glee in the unnaturally loud laugh that Yunho brays out into the middle of the studio.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reblogs/Retweets/Comments are LOVE.
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/165115846770/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-378-k) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/906158206975700993)


	6. wish six: to overcome mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm, how bout that month though. I'm sorry but not cause I reallllly needed that. Anyway, enjoy this double feature XD. 
> 
> Betaed by Kinah, who is lovely and I am eternally thankful. All other mistakes are my own.

**wish six: to overcome mountains**

\--

“They can’t be serious,” Changmin says, before he can think better of it, and Yunho slaps a hand not too gently onto his shoulder. They’re seated side by side across a table from their staff in one of the back rooms in the SM building, legs crossed, exhaustion starting to curl around their mouths, and their December schedule is hell.

There’s really no other word for it; it’s not like Changmin’s exaggerating. They’re in and out of Japan so many times in the last few days of the month that Changmin feels like he should already be stocking up on energy drinks and eye cream. He’s not even sure if they’re supposed to be sleeping--when they’re supposed to be sleeping--and it feels too much like before, like 2008, that Changmin can’t help himself.

“You cannot be serious,” he says again, tilting his head slightly to address the rest of the room and not just the man at his side. Or, Star, he supposes.

Yunho’s still holding onto Changmin’s shoulder, and he digs in now. Changmin’s teeth clack audible in the uncomfortable silence, and he almost flushes before he can help himself because everyone is watching.

The Avex go-between staff here with them dart uneasy glances between the two of them, and really, Changmin thinks that’s unfair, given how fabulously _Tone_ sales have been going. But then, he guesses it’s a hard sell--Bibari and Rui, or whatever else they’re testing around for the tour MCs--when Changmin has spent half this meeting angrily shoving his too long bangs out of his hair and the other half not so subtly undermining everything Yunho says.

It’s not his fault. He’s still annoyed, irrationally, about their latest hotel spat--something to do with towels, he thinks, or lack of sunscreen in Australia--but the specifics of it all has been lost in an utter blur of jet lag. They’ve spent the past two months in and out of Korea so many times that Changmin is finally starting to feel like they’re part of _something_. That they’re going to _make_ it.

“ _Kohaku Uta Gassen_ is an honor,” one of their managers says, sounding very much like this is not a conversation they want to be having. “SNSD has never been invited before. This is your third time.”

What they don’t say is that it’s an opportunity they can’t miss, given the last two times they went they were a five.

Changmin isn’t sure if he’s thankful for that or not.

“But you’ll still be expecting us to do end of year programs?” he clarifies, when it becomes clear that Yunho isn’t going to say anything else. He does dig his fingers into the meat of Changmin’s shoulder, but Changmin’s fine with that. Changmin’s a pro at should-be intimate gestures that really leave score marks.

And now Changmin feels bad, because Yunho’s wearing a fucking v-neck, and the glint of antibacterial cream on his chest is out for the world to see. It’s not like he even broke skin or anything--not his fault Yunho’s delicate like a damn flower--and the fanphotos had been overexposed anyway. Still, their team isn’t taking precautions, Yunho had to give Changmin an incredibly uncomfortable talking to about scratching during ‘Keep Your Head Down,’ and Changmin feels bad about it.  

Yunho’s fingers flex against Changmin’s shoulder again. Changmin feels like his face is an open book of disgruntled displeasure. He sits up straighter in his chair, and feels Yunho mirror him. What a sight they must make, leaned in together like they’re the best of friends, when really Yunho’s chiding and scolding and Changmin’s feeling bad for scratching him up on stage.

“Yes,” one of their Korean managers says, in answer to Changmin’s earlier question. “All three of them.”

Changmin presses his lips into a thin line. “That’s four flights,” he says. “And--” He counts. “Seven performances.”

Their managers glance nervously in between themselves.

“At least we have Christmas off,” Yunho interrupts, finally dropping his hand off of Changmin’s shoulder and settling more solidly into his chair. “Are we doing anything for our anniversary?”

“Do we at least have New Year’s off?” Changmin asks, before anyone can respond.

Their managers refuse to meet their eyes.

“Well, that new movie, _The Peacemaker_ , the premiere is in Seoul--”

“Right.” Changmin’s nostrils flare. “I thought you said we’d never have to do that again?” It’s half a question, but it’s not really a question, because they had said that. Back during the lawsuit, when the absolute hell that was their end of 2008 promotional season was the thing to talk about in all the peace talks and court hearing and depositions, Changmin remembers Yunho’s father asking point blank about it. They didn’t sleep for more than two hours the entire New Year, and the flight number was enough to make even Yunho, Star, seasoned flyer and leader of TVXQ Yunho, sick in a bin in Haneda airport.

And now, only a year into their duo career, and they’re staring down the barrel of a similar horrible few weeks.

But _at least_ they’ve got Christmas off. Not that Yunho will go home, probably, and Changmin will probably hunker down with Kyuline instead of going home where everyone talks in circles about the real issue--that the anniversary isn’t just theirs.

“The premiere’s not set in stone, of course,” one of their managers is very quick to assure them both, as if sensing the stew of feelings that Changmin is putting off right now.

Granted, Changmin’s doing nothing to hold back, arms crossed, mouth a thin, thin line, and eyes probably saying everything.

Yunho’s head lifts ever so slightly. “That’s fine, isn’t it, Changmin?” he says. It’s not a question.

\--

“Get me fucking _wasted_ ,” Changmin says, the moment Kyuhyun opens the dorm door.

His friend falters, but only for a second. “Shim Chwang!” He clasps a hand to Changmin’s shoulder and hugs him in close for the odd version of a bro hug, lips pressing up close to Changmin’s ear where he hisses out, “ _Manager-hyung has invited us back to his house_ ,” before stepping back with a too-bright smile.

“Changminnie’s here, Hyung,” he says to the Manager-hyung in question, standing over by the Suju albums with Minho, who glances between Changmin and Kyuhyun with a rather knowing look.

Manager-hyung smiles, and Changmin almost feels bad when he goes to greet him with a bow and a hug. “Hi, Hyung,” he says, pulling back. “Minho.”

“Boyfriend,” Minho says. “Darling.”

Changmin rolls his eyes.

“Anyway.” Kyuhyun strides back into the conversation and drapes an arm across Changmin’s shoulders. “Shall we?”

\--

It’s possible. That Changmin. Is drunk.

But to be fair, he thinks it’s Kyuhyun’s fault. And to be even _fairer_ , he had asked Kyuhyun to get him drunk. He thinks. Potentially. He’d ask Manager-hyung, who has oh-so kindly supplied all the wine and alcohol, but Manager-hyung is off in the corner with Minho and Kyu giggling.

Changmin’s alone by the wine, wondering where his phone is, and wondering how much shit he’s going to be in when he shows up to Incheon tomorrow hungover.

“You know I have a thing tomorrow,” he calls over towards Kyuhyun, Minho, and Manager-hyung.

The three of them don’t disengage from the giggling circle, but Minho at least has the decency to shout back. “Eh?”

“A fan…thing,” Changmin tries. “In…Sinaporg.” It’s possible his words are slurring, and that he’s gotten the city wrong, but that’s fine. Changmin can just rest his hand on this conveniently located table and take a moment to just breathe.

And ask himself rhetorical and easily answerable questions.

What time is it? Late, probably. Is Yunho awake? Yes, most likely. Is the ceiling spinning? No, but it damn well feels like it.  

“D’you know Yunho-hyung doesn’t need to sleep?” Changmin gets out, turning slightly to face the rest of his friends. “Cause he’s a Star.”

“You’re a star, Changmin-hyung,” Minho says, appearing at his side too fast for Changmin’s drunken brain to handle. “I’m a star. Kyu-hyung’s a star.”

Kyuhyun sticks a hand in the air and gives a whoop.

Manager-hyung laughs at him, head shaking.

“Manager-hyung isn’t a star, though,” Minho finishes. He helps Changmin set his wineglass down and comes in close for a hug.

“No,” Changmin says, a little petulantly, and slaps a hand to Minho’s mouth. “We’re not dating. It’s a scandal. A lie.”

Minho is blinking at him a little cross-eyed from behind Changmin’s hand. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Cutting you off.”

“You’re drunk too,” says Changmin, grabbing his glass before Minho can stop him. He heads back over to Kyuhyun and Manager-hyung, still huddled over something, and then frowns. “Is that my phone?”

“No,” Kyuhyun lies, at the same time Minho drapes himself across Changmin, chin digging into the back of his neck and says, “Yes.”

Kyuhyun shoots Minho a betrayed look.

Their dongsaeng shrugs. “Manager-hyung confis--confisata--took them from us when we got here.”

“When we started in on the wine,” Manager-hyung interjects, not unkindly, and if Changmin were slightly less floaty from said wine, he’d probably be annoyed.

“Whatever.” Kyuhyun waves a hand. “Your passcode is shit, Chwang.”

Changmin blinks a few times.

Minho’s chin is painful in the back of his neck.

“I mean, Yunho-hyung’s birthday?” Kyuhyun rolls his eyes. “Be more of a lovesick girl.”

Changmin blinks a few more times. “My passcode’s not Yunho-hyung’s birthday.”

Minho’s chin leaves the back of his neck rather abruptly.

Changmin turns, mouth open. “Yah.”

Minho slides through his fingers like silk, which is really unfair, because they’re probably the drunkest here. Although, Minho is giggling again, and he looks like he’s actually considering planting one on Changmin the next time Changmin steps in range.

Changmin steps in range, but not on purpose. Changmin falls in range in his quest to interrogate Minho as to how he guessed his passcode, and then Minho catches him, and slobbers all over Changmin’s left cheek, and through it all Kyuhyun still has his phone.

“Yunho-hyung wants to know where you are,” he says, fingers already moving across the screen. “Letting him know he’ll see you at Incheon tomorrow.”

“Why’re you so sober,” Changmin complains, still half cradled against Minho’s chest, but accepting it now. Minho has a nice chest, good, strong, even though he’s not tall enough for Changmin to properly rest against. Really only Yunho’s good enough to rest against.

“But Yunho-hyung’s shorter than you are, Chwang-hyung,” says Minho.

Changmin pets what he thinks is his cheek. “There there.”

Minho takes the fingers to the gums with grace, only shifting out of range when Changmin’s nails catch on his lips.

“Wow,” Kyuhyun says. “You’re both lightweights.”

“Am not.” Changmin lifts his hand free of Minho’s face and points it at Kyuhyun, who’s closer than he thought and who ends of grimacing a little when Changmin’s still glistening finger connects with his t-shirt.

“Light weights,” he says, at the same time a phone starts ringing.

Manager-hyung frowns, but it’s Minho who voices what they’re all thinking when Kyuhyun fishes his phone out from his pants pocket.

“Why’d you get to keep yours?”

“It’s Donghee-hyung,” Kyuhyun says, ignoring them. “What day’s it?”

“Sunday,” Changmin says, but he’s not sure. “Why?”

Kyuhyun answers the phone, and Minho wanders off, bored.

Changmin would stick around, but he settles for stealing his own phone back and wandering back over to Manager-hyung’s sofa to see what Kyuhyun’s been texting Yunho.

He sets his passcode back to his usual one, and then worries for a second that it’s not actually the real one, and sets it back to Yunho’s birthday before he forgets. And then he worries that he’ll forget it’s Yunho’s birthday, and swipes open KakaoTalk to tell Yunho he’s set his passcode as Yunho’s birthday.

He gets a question mark back and a few emoji, but Changmin ignores that in favor of investigating his photos. He has a few colorful selcas of Kyuhyun’s thumb and Minho’s left nostril to add to his collection, and he drags the thing into the drunken shenanigans folder with only mild glee.

And then Kyuhyun’s sticking his phone into his face and telling him, somewhat urgently and also with a mild look of concern, “Donghee-hyung wants to speak to you.”

Changmin goes to take the phone.

Kyuhyun’s grip tightens. “It’s a _live_ broadcast.” He over-enunciates.

Changmin’s head tilts to one side.

“Live,” Kyuhyun says again. “Rieul… you know what, God help you.” He lets go of the phone.

Changmin takes it, pulls it to his ear, and tries out a few “hellos,” while he stalls for time.

“Changmin-ah?” Donghee-hyung sounds like he’s barely holding back glee. “Are you okay?”

Changmin mulls that over. “Yes,” he decides eventually. In his lap, his own phone lights up with more messages from Yunho in the TVXQ group chat, because _Shim Shim Tapa_ is live, or whatever. And ah, Kyuhyun makes so much more sense now.

Donghee-hyung appears to be asking Changmin something. To introduce himself, Changmin thinks. He fumbles his way through what he hopes suffices, and doesn’t even try to pronounce ‘Choikang.’

Donghee-hyung still sounds gleeful.

It’s kind of infectious. Changmin can’t help but laugh.

It seems to make Donghee-hyung even more amused.

The other people--women, Changmin’s wine-logged brain points out rather unhelpfully--start to say something about making sure it’s not still just Kyuhyun doing a Changmin impersonation, and for a second Changmin is ready to drop the phone to fight Kyuhyun, because has Kyuhyun been doing _Changmin impersonations_ around the Suju hyungs because what the fuck? Changmin is going to _murder_ him--

But then Donghee-hyung easily shifts the conversation back around to get Changmin to sing ‘Hug,’ and that makes more sense.

And well, why not, Changmin thinks, and croons out what he hopes is a decently in tune version of the cat line in the middle of Manager-hyung’s apartment while Kyuline dissolves into giggles behind him, and oh, they’re all here now, on the couch, pressing in for phone time.

Changmin feels a yawn in the back of his throat, but manages to interpret Minho’s thigh slapping correctly and passes the phone over.

He drops his head back against the couch back, and blinks up at Manager-hyung, who shakes his head.

“Sungchang-hyung texted me,” he says. “You’ve got a fanmeet in Singapore in two days.”

Changmin sticks a hand in the air, pleased. “Singapore!” he says. “Singapore, yes.”

Manager-hyung’s lips twitch.

Minho starts singing ‘Replay.’

Changmin throws his head further back and laughs.

\--

“So I hear you had quite the night last night,” Yunho says, when Changmin steps into the van the next morning.

“Don’t talk to me,” Changmin rasps out, voice sounding about as good as his head feels. He keeps his sunglasses glued to his shut eyes, and lets his head rest against the cool of the van windows. They’re tinted, which is good, and the steady beat of the wheels against the road is actually soothing. A calming rhythm to counter the ¾ tempo going on at the base of his temples.

“Or morning, I suppose,” Yunho continues, ignoring Changmin. He sticks a hand out to feel up Changmin’s forehead, and Changmin’s too hungover to do more than whine at him.

“Hyung,” he complains. “I don’t have a fever.”

Yunho just presses further, palm flat over Changmin’s eyebrows and skewing the sunglasses.

“Hyung,” Changmin whines some more, not even trying to move away from his hand. “Unless you’ve spontaneously regained the ability to heal me--” He breaks off with an utterly pornographic moan, unable to help himself, as Yunho’s hand starts to glow slightly and warmth spreads out from the center.

It’s heavenly, relief washing over Changmin instantly, and he at last has the wherewithal to pull his phone out to explain the glow.

Luckily for them, his attempts at a porn career have kept their managers’ faces firmly turned towards the front of the car.

Unluckily for Changmin, the rest of his body has not gotten the memo, which is stop doing that, and so he has to cross his legs a little more strongly than he wanted.

Yunho holds still, hand still pulsing away Changmin’s headache, and Changmin makes a tiny noise of gratitude.

“Sorry,” he says.

Yunho drags his hand up, ruffles through Changmin’s too long bangs, and drags his fingers more firmly against Changmin’s scalp.

It’s only will that keeps Changmin from making even more of a fool of himself. “Feels good,” he can’t help but sigh out, and Yunho only falters slightly before continuing on his journey to the back of Changmin’s neck, where he stays for the rest of the ride, gently thrumming out pain relief until they reach Incheon.

It means that when Changmin steps through the doors and has to pull his sunglasses off to get through security he looks less like he drank a vineyard the night before.

“I thought you couldn’t do that anymore,” Changmin hisses to Yunho when they’re loading towards the conveyor belts, shoes off and belts being tugged free of pants.

“So did I,” Yunho replies, and then smiles pleasantly for the TSA agents.

“I don’t suppose you could do it some more?” Changmin continues, once they’ve made it to their gate and are waiting for their cue to board. One of their managers has wandered off to refill water bottles.

“You should sleep, Changdol,” Yunho says, but puts his hand on Changmin’s shoulder anyway, hidden by the straps of Changmin’s backpack, and making Changmin feel warm and sleepy and pain-free.

\--

The end of the year is brutal. It gives Changmin vicious, uncomfortable flashbacks to 2008, and his memories of the rehearsals are half-baked at most. Yunho gives his all, as always, but even his movements are sluggish when they’re on their final hours of filming for one of the Gayo Daejeons. Changmin thinks it’s SBS, but he really can’t remember. It’s a stress filled walkie-talkie style screen, with the both of them in long black coats and very limited lighting, but it means they’re not on location for any of it, and are instead shuffled around on green screens and set pieces.

It reminds him distinctly of ‘Before You Go,’ down to the rather tense moment where Yunho stops responding and Changmin is instructed to race down the hallway to come to his aid. Tomorrow they have to actually attend the ceremony, and then they’re due to MBC for another one, and then the day after that they have another Gayo Daejeon, and then they have to fly to Japan for _Kohaku Uta Gassen_ and some other award ceremony. And then of course, their performance for MBC that will be broadcasted from Japan.  

Because apparently, flying to Japan for a rehearsal and then immediately flying back the next day for a performance is one thing, but doing it all in the same day is a stretch too far.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Yunho says, wandering by Changmin in between actions. Even he looks tired, and that’s saying something, because Changmin had been awake and kicking for the dressing down they’d both gotten for the states of their under eyes. It really had been unfair, because it wasn’t like their stylists weren’t aware of their schedules, and they’d been on and off planes and in and out of recordings so often that even Changmin had decided that proper skin care wasn’t worth it if it meant not sleeping for thirty more minutes. What was the point of having tiny pores if he wasn’t alive to appreciate it?

Yunho is still standing in front of him staring at him.

Changmin blinks a few times; once because confusion, a second time because wow closing his eyes feels amazing, and a third time because shit, no, _filming_ , then sleep, then performance, then another performance, then… _another_ performance, and then _plane,_ and then… another performance. Fuck. Even thinking about it makes Changmin tired. He has no idea how his eyes are staying open.

“Mmmm?” He settles for humming vaguely in Yunho’s direction, because he has absolutely no idea what he wants.

“You were thinking disgruntled thoughts about our schedules,” Yunho explains, stepping in close to Changmin to the point if they were less exhausted it’d probably be an invasion of their usually nonexistent privacy bubble. “And I said you were being unreasonable, because we could have spread things out a little if you hadn’t insisted on Christmas off.”

Changmin opens his mouth, and then shuts it. “Hang on,” he says. “I didn’t insist we have Christmas off. You’re the one who asked about it--and also, I’m a Buddhist. You’re the one who celebrates the thing. Obviously, it’s your fault.”

Yunho shoots him an utterly unimpressed look. “I’m not even human,” he says, which is a fair point, really, since Changmin himself isn’t really sure if his last few sentences made sense. His train of thought is well and truly stopped; the conductor died of sleep deprivation or something. Changmin should tell their stylists that that’s a thing that could happen. Hell, he should tell Kim-seonsaengnim. This is absurd.

“Right,” he says. He’s missed something again.

“I’m not even human,” Yunho says again, kindly, but far too loudly for a non-closed set.

One of their staff members stumbles on their way up to them with a water bottle, and Changmin stomps on Yunho’s foot. He doesn’t stomp hard, because heavy combat boots and Yunho really needs to not be limping for any of their multiple performances and also the upcoming tour, but it has the desired effect anyway.

Yunho ducks his head, flushes under the layers of bb cream, and mumbles out apologies.

“It’s fine, Hyung,” Changmin says, reaching out for the water bottle.

The staff members darts glances between the two of them, before extending his hand.

“Sorry it’s only the one,” the man says, sounding honestly apologetic, and Changmin immediately schools his expression to one that’s less outright disapproval.

He uncaps the bottle and squirts himself out a mouthful, pretending it’s cause he’s thirsty, and not a bad habit that neither he nor Yunho are ever probably going to kick.

Changmin hands Yunho the bottle without looking at him. “You’re lucky I was so tired during Christmas anyway,” he says. “And Kyu was too busy with his Hyungs to come get me drunk, because there is a slight chance I might have tried to stick you on top of the tree.”

There’s the sound of Yunho choking on his water, and for a second Changmin’s heart nearly stops, before their staff member’s utterly confused but also utterly curious expression registers and Changmin is smiling politely at the man.

“Changdol-ah,” Yunho scolds, capping the bottle and handing it back with a bow.

The man scurries off, no doubt chalking this up to their exhaustion. Changmin is grateful, and then Changmin feels bad.

“We should probably tell our staff, actually,” he realizes, turning to face Yunho, who’s looking at him oddly with his lips pursed.

And then he startles, goes pink high across his cheekbones, and won’t meet Changmin’s eyes.

Changmin narrows his eyes at him. “What?” he says.

Yunho still won’t look at him, and is instead worrying the hem of his coat. It makes his shoulders hunch and makes him seem far younger than should really be possible, given that he’s done up like a secret agent and carrying a prop gun. “Nothing.”

Changmin steps closer to him, ignoring how that might look to outsiders, and after a mild pause, pouts. “Hyung.”

Yunho glances at him once out of the corner of his eye, sees the pout, winces, and then rather pointedly goes stalking over to one of the marks on the floor. They’re for later, cause Yunho actually has to fight the men once he’s out of bullets, while Changmin just gets to shout dramatically and concernedly and then to run through halls equally dramatically and concernedly.

“Hyung.” Changmin follows Yunho across the floor, coming to a stop on top of one of the enemy’s marks. His boots thud heavily against the ground in his exhaustion.

Yunho sighs. “You’re right,” he admits finally, still looking down. “I just. I wanted it to be our secret.”

For a second, Changmin feels all warm and bubbly, like butterflies have gotten loose in his stomach. Then the ugly part of him that made him hand Yunho a microphone at least six times rears its head, and he steps away from Yunho in time for the staff to call them to action. “I dunno, Hyung,” he says. “We don’t have a good track record with secrets, do we?”

Yunho turns to stare at him utterly aghast. “Changmin.” He sounds pained, a little broken, and Changmin absolutely doesn’t feel bad about it.

“They’re calling you,” Changmin says, because they are, and files off to find his own marks.

\--

“We are not doing this,” Yunho says, holding onto Changmin’s left wrist like they’re in some sort of contrived and vaguely sexist Drama, backstage before they’re due to go on for ‘Keep Your Head Down’ at SBS Gayo Daejeon.

Their dancers are gathered around them in some sort of protective sphere, but Changmin mostly feels trapped. In about three minutes they’re due on stage, so really they’re supposed to be holding hands and doing their rallying cry before getting into position, but instead of shouting on about ‘TVXQ fighting’ or whatever, Yunho has Changmin in his hold and a serious expression on his face.

His brow is furrowing, his hair is perfectly swept to one side, and he’s also somehow managing to pull of the weird bandage coat their stylists gave him after they’d finished running in between award shows.

Changmin wonders if he can get away with feigning confusion for long enough for there to be absolutely no time for any of this.

“Changmin.” Yunho’s fingers tighten briefly on Changmin’s wrist, before retreating pointedly like they’re in some sort of contrived and suddenly _romantic_ Drama.

Changmin’s jaw locks so hard his teeth clack.

“We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” Changmin casts his eye around the stage, at their dancer-hyungs, Hyoje-hyung in particularly shooting them both baleful, concerned looks. “The performance? You’re going to have to run that one by Manager-hyung _alone_ , I think.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens infinitesimally.  “No.” He looks like he wants to grab Changmin again, and maybe tug him in close or something.

Changmin has never been more thankful for the dancer-hyungs, even though he’s pretty sure that they all want to murder the both of them.

“For the last time, I _want_ this,” Yunho says, meeting Changmin’s eyes head on, and slapping their hands together in a circle for the chant in time for the SBS staff to walk by whispering into an earset and gesturing them into positions in time for their pre-recorded dance bit to start playing. “I want this with _everything_.” Yunho’s eyes are like twin flames of truth burning their way under Changmin’s very being. “Get over. Yourself.”

Changmin has the sudden and unfortunate urge to kiss him.

Hyoje-hyung very kindly elbows him in the side.

“Right.” His voice sounds brittle, which isn’t very good because he can hear the transition from Yunho to him on the screen coming, which means soon they’re going to have to go on stage for _Why_. “Sure.”

Yunho doesn’t look mollified.

Changmin feels bad. “Fine,” he says, trying for a smile and failing. “We can. We can talk about this later, if you want.”

That seems to do it, because Yunho smiles back at him, only his is earnest and blinding.

Literally blinding, if the sudden exclamations from their dancers--and the staff and juniors staring at them with awe--means anything.

Changmin makes a high pitched and undignified noise, glad his mic isn’t on yet, and Yunho gets himself together fast enough that no one thinks much of it--or at least, has no time to think much of it.

“On stage, now,” a manager-hyung hisses, and they slap their hands together, do the chant, and get into position.

During the fight sequence in ‘Keep Your Head Down,’ Changmin presses his palm to the skin of Yunho’s throat, feels the thrum of his vocal chords with his tips of fingers, and flicks his hair out of his eyes for a distraction.

\--

They don’t have time to talk about it, which isn’t even Changmin’s fault. By the time they’re released from SBS, it’s nearly four in the morning, and they have a flight the next day immediately following KBS. For a second Yunho looks like he wants to push it in the car, but Changmin can’t even find the energy to beg his way out of it, so he very wisely drops it.

Three hours isn’t enough, but it’s better than nothing, which is what Changmin reminds himself on the way to KBS for the pre-recording. They’re stuffed into champagne pink suits with weird stripes on the arms, and for once Changmin is grateful for the double-breasted look he’s had for most of this month’s promotions. Yunho’s got a turtleneck, high black collar looking far too good against the wash of his skin, but stifling to do ‘Keep Your Head Down’ in.

The ring comes off perfectly during ‘Before You Go,’ at least, and before long they’re heading back to the dressing rooms and off to Gimpo.

“Never again,” Changmin pants out, sitting in the terminal however many hours later hiding exhaustion behind sunglasses. “We are never doing this again.”

Yunho just pants back at him, equally worn down, equally hidden behind sunglasses, and still wearing the hints of lipgloss.

Changmin tucks his scarf more firmly around his mouth and swears, because he needs to.

“Yeah,” Yunho says finally. “I’m not even sure how I’m standing, to be honest.”

There’s a beat.

Changmin pokes his nose out and turns to face Yunho. “Hyung. You’re sitting.”

There’s another beat.

Yunho’s lips twitch. “Fuck,” he says. “You’re right.”

Changmin snorts, bemused. “You’re proving my point,” he says.

Yunho’s head cracks back audibly. “Yeah, well, we needed to do this.”

“We needed to go perform for the 53rd Japan Record Awards?” Changmin knocks his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose, and then immediately regrets it because he’d just found the perfect balance that left him aloof and cool looking but also less like a damn raccoon.

Yunho doesn’t rise to the bait. “Yes.” He crosses his legs over each other, wincing only slightly.

Changmin would feel bad, but Changmin knows the feel. Sleeping upright in vans and backstage is horrible for you when you’re a normal person who works 9 to 5; when you’re famous--when you’re TVXQ--it’s probably worse, given in between sleeping you’re expected to give 110% on stage doing ridiculous choreography.

Speaking of which. Changmin frowns. “Whoever decided to have the hip thrust thing in ‘Before You Go?’” he asks.

Yunho’s mouth opens, no doubt to point out that was Changmin’s doing, and Changmin powers on.

“That person should be fired.”

Yunho’s mouth purses, no doubt pausing because he can’t suggest they fire Changmin. “That’s my favorite move,” he settles for.

“It would be,” Changmin grumbles to himself, and then when Yunho glances at him questioningly, he raises his voice. “You should choreograph an entire dance like that,” he says. “Go full American Dance and everything.”

Yunho’s mouth closes into a tiny o, and Changmin has a sinking feeling he’s going to get a very disparaging dressing down from Jaewon-hyung about that whenever they do their next album.

“At least we’re staying in Japan for the weekend?” Yunho says finally, trying for a smile.

They’re boarding.

Changmin gets to his feet and tries not to wince at the audible groan of his bones. He’s fucking twenty-four; not eighty.

Yunho gets up with far too much limber, because of course he does.

Changmin would complain, but Changmin would rather just not speak, because the sooner they finish getting herded onto the plane the sooner he can sleep again.

\--

“This is unfair,” Changmin says, staring at the monstrosity waiting for him on the clothes rack. They’d rushed immediately to rehearsals once they got off the plane, so he hadn’t had a chance to see their styling for the performance, and now that he has, he wishes he hadn’t.

“Don’t throw stones, Changdol,” Yunho says, because he can. His coat is mostly patent leather. “I know you took that Dolce jacket home.”

“It’s Dolce and Gabanna, Hyung,” Changmin corrects, not rolling his eyes but only because he feels like given how dry they feel, that’d be pushing his luck. They could roll all the way out of his head and get lost or something. What then? How would they perform if he didn’t have eyes? Maybe he could try on a dancer-hyung’s pair of glasses, learn the tricks. Or. Dancer-san, he supposes. They are in Japan.

Yunho is staring at him looking slightly creeped out.

Changmin has a sinking feeling he’s said all that out loud.

“Right.” Yunho sounds like Changmin’s said all that out loud. “Anyway, I know you took the coat home.”

“Okay, but that one is stylish,” Changmin argues, eyeing the wool looking mess. It kind of looks like it’s supposed to go on someone’s head, not his body.  “I don’t know what this one is.”

“Stylish,” their stylist says, sounding a little bemused, but firm. “Down.”

Changmin dips his head obligingly to let them fuss with his hair, clipping bits of it so that it holds in place. They’re going to curl him once he has the entire get up on--dress shirt, tie, waist coat…fuzzy…thing--but his bangs are flat today.

“Cute,” the stylist says, head ducking shyly.

Changmin casts a glance over at Yunho, who’s stripped out of his outerwear and is fingering the hem of his jacket.

Changmin maybe watches his hands for longer than he really should, before he’s startled out of his reprieve by the stylist calling his name.

Changmin pastes a smile onto his face and shrugs out of his scarf and leather jacket, leaving his arms bare and pebbling in the cool of the dressing room.

Yunho’s got his shirt off already, back to the rest of the room out of some lingering self-consciousness, and Changmin can’t look away.

“Changmin-san,” he gets called again, and when he turns back around guilty, the woman looks amused.

Changmin ducks his head, bows, and pulls his shirt up over his head, careful of the clips.

\--

2011 melts into 2012 somewhere in the middle of _Kohaku Uta Gassen_ , and Changmin spares a brief thought that maybe he should be celebrating or something. He and Yunho have already finished their MBC recording, and he’s already taken a quick glance at his phone during hair and makeup to investigate his Korean phone for messages--Kyuhyun and Super Junior are loud and rambunctious even an ocean away and at MBC itself; Minho and SHINee are more subdued. He’d gotten texts from SNSD and f(x) and Jonghyun, as well as a few juniors he hadn’t actually known had his number, and it had been a rather bizarre experience.

Like, at some point, amazingly, Changmin became a senior. Not only that, but he survived an entire year with just him and Yunho--had a comeback that went farther than they’d even _dreamed_ , and now here they are, on a stage in Tokyo, at Japan’s most prestigious music program, _by themselves_. Just the two of them. Just Yunho and Changmin. Tohoshinki. TVXQ.

Changmin swallows.

It’s 2012.

As if reading his mind, Yunho finds him backstage in between sets. “Changminnie,” his voice sounds weird, like he’s only just realized they’ve survived an entire year by themselves, and there’s husk behind his words. “Changminnie. It’s 2012.”

Changmin blinks at him, suddenly feeling a little overcome. “Yeah.”

“Changminnie,” Yunho says again.

“Hyung,” Changmin tries to intercede, but stops when Yunho steps in close to him. He steps back before he can stop himself, a reflex, something he doesn’t even think about doing, but hurt blooms high across Yunho’s cheekbones, and he lowers his hands pointedly and slowly.

That was probably a hug. Or something.

“Sorry,” Changmin says, because he feels like he should.

Yunho’s head dips forward in acknowledgement, but the tension doesn’t ease. They’re still standing facing each other; Changmin is still pressed as far away as he can; Yunho’s hands are still carefully placed by his sides; and Changmin thinks: what must they look like.

Their performance concept is black and white. They’re both in textured linen jackets over top plain black pants, only Yunho has been given a tie with a pin and Changmin has been shoved into a fur lined monstrosity. It’s not even attached to the jacket or anything--it’s just a collar of fur. Probably the intention was some sort of angel/demon feeling.

Changmin wants to scoff. If only their stylists knew how wrong they’d gotten it. Changmin was no angel, and Yunho was absolutely no demon.

“Happy New Year,” Changmin tries, when it becomes clear Yunho is just going to keep staring down at the tops of his shoes. “Hyung.”

Yunho lifts his head.

Changmin smiles despite himself. “We did it,” he says.

Yunho looks like he wants to hug him again.

Changmin feels like he’d let him. “We survived,” he continues, to fill the silence. “We _made_ it.”

“We were amazing,” Yunho agrees, voice only a little gruff. “We’re at _Kohaku Uta Gassen_.”

Changmin feels laughter bubble from the center of his chest. “We are,” he says. “Alone.”

Yunho’s hands do something.

Changmin thinks, fuck it, and reaches out for one of them. He squeezes it because it’s New Year’s Eve, they’ve made it, and it feels like the right thing to do.

“There you are,” one of their Japanese managers says, sounding out of breath and holding onto a headset. “They’re calling you on stage.”

Changmin lets go of Yunho’s hand as if he’s been burned because he can’t help himself, but Yunho doesn’t seem to take offense.

They both dip their heads, apologize for worrying everyone, and their manager leaves with only one backward glance.

“Come on,” Changmin says, nudging Yunho in the direction of the stage. Of their last performance of 2011.

“Changminnie.” Yunho’s expression is hidden, eyes behind a wall of carefully coiffed bangs. “You know I want this, right?”

Changmin sighs. “Yes, Hyung,” he says. He bites at his lip. “I’m sorry about before.”

Yunho’s head lifts, and his eyes are fucking sparkling again, which is just _unfair_.

Changmin scowls before he can help himself, fully aware that his ears are blushing. Thankfully his hair is long. They curled it today, so it’s not a sheet of annoyance, but it does afford him some sort of privacy. Nothing like walking around with flaming beacons of embarrassment to ruin his carefully preserved image.

“Changdol,” Yunho says.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Changmin says, only half meaning it. “Don’t read too much into it.” He manages a self-deprecating smile. “Honestly it was rather arrogant of me to assume that I was the only thing keeping you here.”

Yunho doesn’t laugh with him, though.

Changmin’s heart is doing terrible, terrible things. “Do _not_ answer that,” he says somewhat desperately. “Hyung, no.”

Yunho’s mouth forms around affirmatives.

“We’re late,” Changmin hurries to say, reaching out to grab Yunho’s hand again and turning to haul him back down through the maze of backstage.

Yunho lets him, strokes his thumb almost reverently over the back of Changmin’s hand, and then stops with a kicked puppy look when Changmin tries to yank his hand back.

“We’re late,” he says, parroting Changmin’s word’s back to him and striding to match him.

Changmin balks, not one to be outdone, and they go down the hall fighting each other the whole way.

That’s how they welcome the new year, holding hands, grumbling under their breaths at each other in a mix of Korean and Japanese about ‘stubborn, idiotic hyungs,’ and ‘too competitive for their own good dongsaengs.’

“Wow,” their manager says, as the sound team sets about arranging their facemics. “Wow.”

Changmin just smiles brilliantly at the man. “Happy New Year.”

“Get on stage,” the man says, shaking his head.

“I hope you have a fabulous 2012 too!” Changmin calls over his shoulder, and then knocks his shoulder against Yunho’s in his haste to follow through with Manager-hyung’s request.

Yunho steadies him with one hand, meets Changmin’s eyes at the lip of the stage, and they go out before their fans to welcome in the New Year.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3.
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/166267288665/lucky-star-author-zimriya-pairing-yunhochangmin) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/917874633386418176)


	7. wish seven: for nothing to change (and everything to)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2012\. The love and war chapter. Or the one that we’ve all been waiting for. Kind of. AGAIN SORRY NOT SORRY BUT ENJOY THIS DOUBLE FEATURE.
> 
> Betaed by Kinah. All other mistakes are my own.

**wish seven: for nothing to change (and everything to)**

\--

They’re three days into filming _Fly with the Gold_ and Changmin honestly wants to cry. It’s stressful enough as it is filming alongside the tour, but the language barrier is only confounded by dialect and accents, and more often than not Changmin is made to feel like an utter idiot with a language he’s been fluent in since 2007. His manager is nice about it--just hands him water bottles when the days end and they’re shuffled into company cars to go back to their Japanese apartment, and Yunho is too busy with the tour to focus on the fact that Changmin flits between stages without a spring in his step.

That’s fair, honestly. The tour takes up all of Changmin’s non-acting waking hours. They do rehearsals in every new city, working through the kinks on new stages and perfecting fumbles. They refine the MC’s; Yunho starts forcing Changmin to watch Japanese variety on planes and trains and before they go to sleep.

Because more often than not they’re tumbling into one bed without even bothering with getting out of their clothes--although Yunho does have a tendency to kick his jeans off and Changmin is starting to feel like their age difference is moving in the opposite direction for the number of heart attacks he’s had waking in the middle of the night with Yunho’s bare legs tangled up with his own. It’s hell on their skin, their make up noonas are _pissed_ , and so three days into filming _Fly with the Gold_ , Changmin comes home from a particularly grueling shoot where he actually wept in front of the director and staff and everyone who once upon a time perhaps admired him, and instead of collapsing in his own bed without doing shit, he stomps across the hallway to the bathroom, washes his face, cleanses, tones, moisturizes, and grudging gets out the sheet masks.

And then he goes back across the hallway to Yunho’s room and belly flops into the man’s bed.

Or.

The Star’s bed.

It’s a testament to how tired they both are that Yunho doesn’t so much as grumble, shoving halfheartedly in the vague direction of Changmin, face scrunching up. Changmin is pleased to note that his eyes seem bare, so at the very least there will be less telling off in the morning, but Changmin is mostly too busy fending off elbows and sighing loudly in the hopes that Yunho might wake up a little and console him.

“Hyung,” he says after a while, and wow, it’s nice to speak Korean after his day. “Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho’s brow furrows and it’s the cutest thing Changmin’s sleep-deprived and stress-worn brain has ever seen.

“Yunho-hyung,” he says again, and shoves his face down into the pillow. Their beds in Japan aren’t any larger than their beds in Korea, and their beds in Korea stopped holding both of them around the time Changmin stopped needing inserts (and kept wearing them to spite Yunho, who honestly didn’t need them either given how they tower over their juniors). In short, Changmin ends up with most of Yunho’s hair in his mouth, but he doesn’t care.

He just sighs, breathes in his strawberry shampoo, and tries not to be charmed by how blond it is. Yunho’s been blond before--they were _both_ blond, actually--but this time around he’s just a shade more masculine that it really works for him. They’ve both bulked up slightly in preparation for the tour, but Yunho wears it better Changmin thinks.

It must be a Star thing.

When he turns his head to the side, Yunho’s face is way too close to his, his eyes are half open, and he’s smiling like he’s got a secret.

Changmin is automatically on edge. And then he automatically regrets that, because every single muscle in his neck hates him. Apparently, getting shouted at in your second language with Kansai dialect while attempting to act on less than five hours of sleep will turn even the most media trained patron of good posture into a hunching ball of anxiety. This is terrible. It’s way too late to get a massage, and they have three shows the next day. Also, even though they were both extremely passed out and not in the mood on the day of, it’s the Lunar New Year.

Or. It was.

“Changminnie.” Yunho’s voice is all soft and sleep ridden and Changmin’s too pained and tired to do anything but drink in the warmth pooling in his abdomen.

“Hyung,” he replies, because, he had had a point somewhere along the lines. “Hyung, I can’t do this anymore.”

That wasn’t it. But, well, it’s out there now.

Yunho lifts his head, looking concerned finally, and shakes sleep off himself with far more ease than any human has any right to do. Which makes sense, given he’s not technically a human.

He’s in a pajama shirt--so threadbare Changmin can see every single birthmark on his collar bone, and boxers. When he gets up, the already cramped bed becomes even more cramped, and so Changmin is forced to follow after him, arranging their incredibly long legs until Yunho is sitting cross legged like some sort of shaman and Changmin is awkwardly hanging half off the bed like some sort of mythological creature.

“A mermaid,” Yunho says, to be helpful, and making Changmin’s head spin even more.

“What?”

“You look like a mermaid.”

Changmin flicks his too-long bangs out of his eyes before he can help himself, takes in the slope of his legs--to one side and off the edge of the bed pressed together much like a fin--and then scowls. “Hyung,” he says.

Yunho sobers rather quickly. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”

Changmin feels bad for a second, but then the ache in his shoulders makes itself even more known, and he rearranges himself on the bed a few more times, wincing and reaching up to knead at the abused muscles.

Yunho watches him the entire time with concerned eyes, a hand stuck awkwardly out in between them. He looks like he wants to give Changmin a hug or something. Changmin would take him up on the hug.

“Fuck,” he swears a few times, head bent low, shoulders a knotted mess. “Fuck, Hyung.”

He can feel Yunho’s nervous energy like another party in the room.

“Kansaiben is _horrible_ ,” Changmin decides, vehement in his dislike but unable to meet Yunho’s probing eyes.

There’s a pause, a faint glow, and then Yunho is sinking blessed, healing fingers into the meat of Changmin’s back.

Changmin has absolutely no qualms about sounding straight out of a porno this time around, and when Yunho makes like he’s going to take issue, he shoots a hand back to hold his wrist captive. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ stop,” he moans out, eyes almost rolling at how good it feels--how the easing of his shoulder blades is making knots in his back he didn’t even know he had unclench.

Yunho makes a vaguely distressed and embarrassed sounding noise, but keeps his hand right where it is, sweeping up into the finer baby hairs at the base of Changmin’s neck and, after a mild pause, stroking over the backs of his ears.

Changmin keeps hold of his wrist the entire time, eyes closed, and by the time Yunho’s done, it feels like it’s been hours.

“Sorry,” Changmin says, because he knows how limited healing is for Yunho at this point. They haven’t had time to talk about it consistently, but he’s starting to get the gist of it. No matter how many times Yunho insists he’s a normal person who happens to also be kind of a Star--with a childhood and a loss of virginity and whatever the heck else he sees fit to throw at Changmin (oftentimes, pink in the cheeks from too much soju, he’ll force Changmin to watch _Dalgona_ and tell him entirely unnecessary anecdotes about his Gwangju friends. Which, Changmin hadn’t thought he needed to know all about Yunho’s various sexuality crises or whatever, but just a week ago on one such occasion, he’d been treated to one in the present, which ended with the two of them making very awkward eye contact, deciding perhaps Bibari and Rui was a bad idea, and vowing to _never_ again engage in anything like it.)

It’s possible Changmin’s spent far too much time lost in his own thoughts. “Sorry.” He opens his eyes, rubs at the back of his neck, and nearly groans again at how easy it is to move.

Yunho just smiles back at him, looking suitably charmed. There are more dark circles around his eyes now; his complexion is left perfect. “You know you were like a cat just now, right?” he asks.

Changmin takes back all feelings of apology and guilt. “I did not,” he hisses.

Yunho puts both hands in the air between them. “Sorry, you just went from an angry ball of tension to a looser less angry ball of tension in five minutes flat.”

“That was only five minutes?” Changmin says, biting back comments about the other thing--about showing Yunho a real _ball of tension_ \--because they don’t make any damn sense.

Yunho nods, still looking amused. And then his expression grows serious again, and he gets up on his knees like he’s going to grasp Changmin by the cheeks and ask him important, probing questions.

That’s a Star thing. That’s something that Changmin is one day going to get up the courage to smack out of him. Gently, and entirely within the parameters of their extremely healthy Hyung-Dongsaeng relationship. They speak banmal. They’ve slept on each other’s shoulders. Everything is _fine_.

Expect cheek touching.

Changmin ducks away from him, heart pounding for reasons he’d rather not think about. “Yunho-hyung,” he says quickly. “What have I told you about doing that--”

“Changdol, what did you mean by you can’t do this anymore?” Yunho interrupts anyway, voice very serious, skin doing that weird glow thing. He puts his hands down though, at least.

Changmin blinks a few times to stop thinking about the glowing and start thinking about the question. “Hyung,” he decides finally, feeling rather helpless in the face of Yunho’s sudden gravity. He fumbles through the dark for an answer, finds barb in half bitten Japanese instead, and comes up ready for a fight that Yunho doesn’t deserve. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this. If anything, it should be me asking you.”

Changmin feels bad instantly, because Yunho doesn’t deserve this, but he also can’t back down. Not now that he’s said it.

For once, Yunho doesn’t rise to the bait. “Changminnie,” he says.

“You know, just because you’re older than me and we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean that calling me that automatically makes you nice,” Changmin snaps.

Yunho’s eyes finally go a little dark, but he doesn’t respond. “Changmin, then.”

Changmin’s skin itches.

“You’re still invested in TVXQ--”

“Of _course_ , Hyung.” The sentence feels a little like acid in his mouth. Like thorns on roses. The words are certainly pretty enough, but the intent and vitriol behind them leaving Changmin smarting.

Yunho takes it like how he takes all things TVXQ, with grace, calm, and the infinite poise of a fucking Leader. Of a celestial being. Of something not human, and something not at all worthy of being dirtied by Changmin’s pettiness and inability to let things lie.

“Stop that,” Yunho says, because of course he does, because he can always tell when Changmin’s getting maudlin, or tetchy, or about three seconds from a screaming fight that ends with the two of them not speaking and their staff sighing patronizingly. Because they’ve had so many at this point they’re not worried--they always make up, and then they’re back to being glued to one’s side and working the dancer’s day in and day out on making the tour the best thing they’ve ever done.

Changmin flicks his hair out of his eyes again and feels his hackles rise, and then his muscles start to hum in warning, and he thinks better of fighting. He’s risking the best three hours of sleep he’s had in ages over an argument they’ve been having since 2009.

He settles himself down. “I just meant the movie,” he says finally. “You don’t need to panic about it.” He doesn’t say anything about not spoiling Yunho’s dreams or whatever, because he doesn’t quite believe it yet, but also, because none of it would be pretty.

Yunho hears him anyway. “I worry about you because I worry about you, Changmin,” he says. “Not because you’re a means to an end.”

Changmin is struck by a rather strong sense of déjà vu. “Yunho-hyung,” is all he can manage.

Yunho smiles at him, a true, human looking smile, and Changmin finds himself smiling right back.

There’s a pause, and then Yunho is settling back down into his bed, head on the pillow, feet crossed neatly at the ankle, and shifted all the way over so that if Changmin wanted, he could risk the best three hours of sleep he’s had in ages in favor of using Yunho as an overgrown pillow.

And, well, his proper name was the breast, and all.

“You’re thinking not so nice thoughts about the Star I am,” Yunho says, but Changmin ignores him in favor of not noticing how many times he’s elbowed Yunho in the stomach and ribs.

“Go to sleep, Hyung,” he says, eyes already closing, mind already halfway off to dreamland. “We have a show in the morning.”

“You’re doing wonderful, Changmin,” he thinks he hears Yunho say, but he can’t be sure, nor does he care, because sleep is far nicer than any compliment or sentence of faith.

They fight like they’ve never shared a bathroom or a dressing room the next morning, to the point where their managers and staff are actually worried about the concert, but of course the moment the lights come up and B.U.T. blasts out its baseline everything is forgotten, to the point where one of their newer staff shakes her head at them and mentions that married couple variety program from early 2000s.

\--

It’s their staff’s idea.

“It would be strange if you didn’t switch,” they say, which, as sentences go, Changmin never thought he’d hear it from a man tasked with keeping him on time and checking him into hotels.

“Besides,” another manager-hyung prompts, seemingly unbothered by the subject matter. “If it goes badly, we can just change it later.”

They both try on hopeful smiles and place worried hands overtop quietly commanding communication devices.

Walkie talkies, Changmin’s sleep deprived brain points out. They’re using walkie talkies. The walkie talkies are whisper-shouting that the tour VCR is almost done, and that Yunho and Changmin are due out on stage in under five minutes.

The two of them exchange mildly confused glances--or at least, Changmin is trying for mild; Yunho just looks like he ought to have received the Bambi nickname and deer costume all those years ago.

Their managers smile even wider.

“Sure,” Changmin says finally, because a) no one else was going to say it and, b), their staff are the ones asking, so there’s really no way for Yunho to up their practice schedule in some sort of passive aggressive fit of spite.

“Yeah,” agrees the man in question, after a slightly too long pause.

Changmin has only thirty seconds to think about how he’s not really a man--how he’s actually a Star, but then, thinking shit like ‘the Star in question’ makes Changmin feel even more like an insipid fangirl--before they’re both blinded in the struggle in and out of their stage costumes.

“Great,” Changmin hears Manager-hyung say, and then, possible, something about won, but all of that gets lost under all the fabric.

\--

Changmin’s almost nervous before. It’s stupid--he’s certainly done more absurd things on stage than put Yunho in a pseudo-sexual headlock while cackling on in bad parody of a Japanese comedy host--but he also can’t really help it, so when he makes the initial approach his palms go sweaty against the microphone.

And thank everything for the microphone. The things like’s an extra-phallic centering rod, and while normally Changmin would laugh about how even his mental metaphors have taken a distinctly _non_ -pseudo-sexual turn, mostly Changmin is just trying not to trip over his own two feet as he strides across the stage towards Yunho.

Changmin has lines.

Changmin is going to say his lines.

Changmin is going to say his lines, grab Yunho in that--who-is-he-kidding-- _very_ -sexual headlock, and _croon_ \--holy _shit_ , Changmin is fucking _crooning_ \--some sort of nonsense in his subtly shaking Hyung’s damn ear.

Because Changmin is a fucking professional.

And that’s what fucking professionals do.

They croon bad rom-com lines in their partner’s ear on a stage in front of thousands of screaming fangirls.

The entire experience is, as always, somehow both simultaneously “I’m going to kill you” and “I’m going to _fuck_ you” and the ensuing shrieking and crying has Changmin semi-deaf in the seconds afterwards.

Yunho goes bowstring tight in the seconds afterwards.

Changmin--

Changmin feels it down to his fucking _toes_.

Well…  _fuck_.

It’s better than yesterday. It’s better than getting not-so-surprised with cake and candles and fighting Yunho tooth and nail to not get shoved face first into that cake and candles (although thankfully, technically Yunho removed the candles beforehand as to avoid setting Changmin on fire). Payback, the near stifling grip Yunho had on the back of Changmin’s neck said. Play along.

Not a chance, Changmin had thought, and made Yunho fucking _work_ for it.

Things had been tense afterwards. Changmin prattled something on about not wanting to get his Momo-perfect hair dirty and not wanting to smell like strawberries for the end of all days, and Yunho had stared back vacantly before not so subtly leaving strawberry scented shampoo directly in the middle of their shower.

Things had been normal.

This is not normal.

Changmin’s not sure how he gets through the remainder of the Japanese dialogue, but somehow he does, and Yunho does, and sooner than he’d like it they’re separating. Which is weird enough as it is. Changmin should be chomping at the bit to no longer be back-hugging Yunho in too-thin-basically-pajamas on stage, which is, frankly, how he usually feels about the whole experience when it’s the other way around.

Only, this time, when he’s the one doing the grabbing, Changmin feels something whine in the pit of his chest when Yunho pulls away to fluster and bluster and blush down the microphone at their audience.

Which is not okay.

Chest’s don’t fucking whine.

(Unless, of course, they’re fucking fallen Stars sent from above. In that case, they whine constantly about the most mundane and annoying things--like getting the first shower or extending practice twenty minutes longer or having the window seat on planes so that they can stare at their probably compatriots in the goddamn sky.

But Changmin digresses.)

Yunho is staring at him more than a little fondly, and Changmin can’t help but duck his head in response.

Somehow, miraculously, the show goes on.

“I think that went well,” Yunho says when they get off stage, only panting slightly from the excursion.

Changmin’s too shaken and exhausted now that he doesn’t have to front superhuman-stamina in front of their fans anymore, but he manages a tiny twitch to his lips.

Yunho doesn’t take offense at that, although he does look at Changmin ever so-slightly too long, before they’re too busy getting out of the final costume and into something more comfortable for the long haul home.

Technically speaking it’s probably been too long to still be hung up on Bibari and Rui, but somehow everyone still is. Their managers are scouring through SNS for feedback about the skit and their fans are raving along about the entire thing--already it’s been translated into three languages and spread across two continents--and Changmin tunes them out in favor of breathing exercises.

He can get away with that, because he’s a singer.

“That went more than well,” Manager-hyung addresses Yunho finally, snapping Changmin out mid eight count and exhale. “Feel free to mix it up from now on.”

“Because you have so much input into the setlist,” Yunho quips back, and for a second Changmin almost feels like things have gone back to normal.

Manager-hyung cuffs Yunho on the back of the head like a mother cat batting a cub.

Yunho goes shy and blushing and pleased all rolled into one.

Changmin’s heart skips a traitorous beat. It’s just--he looks the same, and the memory is apparently way too fresh.

“It’s fine, Hyung,” Yunho replies, all in good fun. “We can do that.”

 _We most definitely cannot_ , Changmin bites back, because they have SNS proof that they need to. Or rather, that they should do. This is their first tour as a duo. They need it to be as memorable and successful as possible.

“Good.” Manager-hyung sounds relieved, and calls for the car.

“Are you okay, Changminnie?” Yunho says quietly as they’re herded off towards the exits.

Changmin just grunts in response.

He’s tired.

He can get away with that.

Yunho lengthens his stride so that he can drone on with their staff about their upcoming schedules. They’ve got Sapporo on Wednesday and Friday, Yunho has a flight home to Korea for something or other immediately after, Changmin has movie work and headaches, but not even the monotony of call times and flight numbers is enough to keep Changmin’s mind from replaying the feel of Yunho pressed up against him or the thrill of every single one of those practiced, inhuman muscles locking into rigid, perfect precision when Changmin leaned in close and breathed on him.

The car ride is the longest one of Changmin’s near-decade long career.

\--

The tension hasn’t dissipated by the time they get home.

If anything, it’s accrued interest--they’d sat through a five minute lecture about leaking the release date for the ‘Still’ MV in quiet solidarity and then spent the next five minutes driving closer to their apartment in quiet something _else_ , and now that they’re home and have both showered--and Changmin’s finishes, quietly snarling about how Yunho left the strawberry shit in the middle of the floor again and one of these days he’s going to be responsible for Changmin tripping and _dying_ \--it’s still growing.

They sit through one incredibly late dinner of leftovers, because if they don’t eat, their bodies will fucking kill them along with their various trainers and handlers.

And then they go to bed.

Silently.

Without speaking to each other.

Which would have been fine, if not slightly strained the next early morning rehearsal breakfast combo, if it weren’t for the fact that instead of falling into blessed sleep, Changmin ends up lying awake staring at his ceiling and reliving the entire sordid experience. His memory is way too technicolor and pristine for having completed a four-hour show in a foreign language. There are years of research into how human memory is fucking appalling.

Changmin doesn’t deserve this.

His door creaks open.

“Changmin-ah.”

It’s Yunho.

Changmin debates playing dead.

“I know you’re awake,” Yunho says. “I know what your breathing sounds like when you sleep.”

Changmin waits a moment. “That’s… creepy,” he concedes finally. “What the fuck, Hyung?”

“I’ve known you for nine years,” Yunho says. “It’s practical.” He’s definitely rolling his eyes; Changmin can tell even though it’s dark and he’s still staring at the ceiling; Changmin is going to laugh himself silly and die.

“Knowing when I’m sleeping is practical?” Changmin says instead, because death would be too kind for even him, it seems. He rolls to face Yunho and is immediately glad. The Star looks about two seconds from climbing into bed alongside with him. That is not okay.

Parts of Changmin were way more into the whole reliving the Bibari and Rui skit thing than others, and those parts of Changmin absolutely do not need to be anywhere near parts of Yunho. Yunho’s a fucking Star. For all Changmin knows, Yunho doesn’t even have a dick.

(That’s a lie. Changmin was a nosy teenager for most of his working life with Yunho, so Changmin knows quite well that Yunho has a dick. Not only that, but Changmin had three other hyungs two years his senior, so not only does he know Yunho has a dick, but he knows that it’s significantly more impressive than the average, and worthy of good natured (and not so good natured actually) teasing.)

And, great. Changmin had managed to go an entire month without thinking about JYJ. He’d even turned a full year older.

On the bright side, there are no longer any reasons Yunho cannot get in bed with him.

Yunho gets in bed with him.

Changmin turns his attention back skyward.

Yunho follows suit.

The silence stretches.

“That was weird, right?” Yunho says after a few uncomfortable moments staring at the ceiling alongside Changmin.

Changmin’s fingers spasm. “What, Bibari and Rui? I mean sure, Hyung, I guess, I thought you were more openminded than that given you’re not even from Earth--”

“I meant doing it the opposite way around,” Yunho interrupts, before Changmin’s mouth can get the better of him.

There’s a beat.

“I meant switching.”

Another beat.

“I mean--oh fuck it,” Yunho swears, and sighs. “You know what I mean.”

Changmin stares helplessly straight ahead and breathes through his nose. “Sure,” he says. Maybe if he stares hard enough, he can convince his brain to stop unconsciously keeping him breathing, and he’ll just die instead of continuing this conversation.

The silence stretches on infinitely and Changmin’s traitorous body keeps breathing.

Finally, he sighs. “It was weird,” he concedes, and risks a quick glance to the side.

Yunho licks his lips, a little flick of his tongue that’s more nervous energy than anything else, and really has no business in making something golden bubble around Changmin’s belly.

“Good weird, though,” Yunho says.

Changmin could respond to that, or Changmin could continue living. In a rather stunning turn of events, he decides that staring at the ceiling in an attempt to perish is dumb, and what he’d much rather do is live happily and gleefully not talking about whatever the fuck happened up on stage.

“We should do it more often,” Yunho continues, because he hates Changmin clearly.

Changmin turns to him, fully aware he’s probably blushing, but not really knowing what to do with that beyond ignoring it. “We should definitely do it more often,” he says, voice shrill and high and oh no that was _not_ what he meant to say.

Yunho stares back at him, mouth parted and cheeks tinged pink. “Okay,” he says finally. “If you’re sure.”

“I _am_ sure,” Changmin snaps, and flips back around to stare horrifiedly at the far wall of his bedroom. What the fuck is wrong with his filter? Where is his sense of self-preservation? Why is some part of himself congratulating itself on a job well done? _Why the fuck is it so good to grasp Yunho firmly in hand and basically sniff him?_

Changmin debates shoving his entire face into the pillow and smothering himself.

“Right.” At the very least, Yunho sounds about as well put together as Changmin. “I’m just going to go back to my own bed, now.”

“Awesome,” Changmin gets out, voice squeaking in the middle like he’s pubescent again. “See you tomorrow.”

Yunho leaves silently, but only after he touches Changmin once on the side, where it’s tender from a bad spill out of a costume backstage earlier, and Changmin nearly takes his own tongue off in the fight not to yelp about it.

The fan-proclaimed ‘minho’ version of their Bibari and Rui skit goes over incredibly well, to the point where they find switching it up really does help with the monotony of the situation, and Changmin actually finds that he kind of looks forward to it. Especially when Yunho grabs him particularly hard one concert, and instead of a choke hold, it’s actually a lot closer to an embrace.

Changmin takes two showers after that--one to get the sweat off him post show, and one at four in the morning pointedly after waking from horrifying and absolutely non memorable dreams. Nondescript dreams about like. Shows. And maybe hanging out with Kyuline. And certainly not Jung Yunho pinning him across a desk nattering on about nuisances in badly scripted Japanese while eating strawberries off Changmin’s chest.

He comes out of the shower to find Yunho standing in sweatpants and nothing else, red-faced and pointedly not making eye contact.

“You saw nothing,” Changmin says, at the same time Yunho says, “Let’s never talk about his ever again.”

Which works, until they’re doing the reverse on stage a few weeks later, and Changmin’s the one pretending the walls aren’t thin at four in the morning while Yunho takes the longest shower of their lives together.

“Love and war,” he says in an interview, and immediately feels like an absolute idiot.

“Home,” Yunho returns in a seasoned, hard hitting way, like he was the one scouted playing badminton.

The interviewer just smiles, charmed.

\--

“I cannot keep doing this,” Changmin says, panicked, sweating, and hiding in their bathroom with only minutes to spare before they’re all due to fly to California. “I cannot keep fucking doing this.”

“Changmin.” Kyuhyun sounds patently unimpressed. “You couldn’t wait to have this breakdown in person?”

“Shut up,” Changmin automatically snaps back. “I’m inconsolable.”

Kyuhyun is silent.

Changmin lets to what he’ll deny to his grave is anything like a pitiful wail. He is hiding in his bathroom like a coward because ever since the tour wrapped and Changmin made that stupid joke on the Byungjin-hyung’s show, Yunho’s been simultaneously walking on eggshells--“For the last time, Hyung, it was just a joke!” “Mmm.”--and being disarmingly acquiescing--“Whatever you say, Changminnie.” “I was making fun of Kyuhyun! _Kyuhyun_ should be upset at me--not you!” “Okay, Changminnie.” “Gah!”--to the point where Changmin feels justified in hiding in a bathroom an entire month later.

It’s so bad that he’s starting to fear for his skin care regimen, which is the icing on top of the already shitty cake. Stress-breakouts are supposed to be for pre-pubescent teenagers, not twenty-four-year old’s who may or may not have accidentally hurt their idiotic Hyung’s feelings by making a dumb joke about wanting to be in another idol group. Changmin doesn’t need this. They’d only just recovered from all the awkwardness from Bibaru and Rui. His skin can’t take the added stress.

Kyuhyun still hasn’t said anything.

“Cho Kyuhyun,” Changmin wails. “Console me!”

“Okay, but you said you were inconsolable,” says Kyuhyun, and wow, what an asshole. Changmin is going to excommunicate him from his life and hold auditions for a new best friend.

“Yunho-hyung is a fucking _fallen star_!” he shouts, more than a little at the end of his rope. In fact, the rope is gone. The rope went up in flames the night before, when Changmin tried to ask Yunho how he felt about performing in California after so long, and Yunho simply stared back at him like the question was obvious, before making a truly impressively passive aggressive comment about how Changmin should just go ask someone in Super Junior. He thought they were done with this.

At the Dream Concert, Changmin fucking took out half of Exo in his quest to hold Yunho’s damn hand.

What more does he fucking _need_?

The world, apparently, and probably, Changmin not to go around blurting his secret like it’s nothing fuck, fuck fuck.

He and Yunho haven’t even had time to discuss telling their staff, and their staff live and breathe their hell schedules alongside them. Their staff go to the bathroom with them when they’re in airports. Sure, Kyu’s seen Changmin at his worst (and vice versa, because that’s what best friendship is, honestly) but he shouldn’t be telling Kyuhyun this _over_ the phone just because Yunho looked at him wrong the other day.

“Uh…” Kyuhyun says finally. “Changmin? Are you okay--”

“And I’m in fucking _love_ with him!” Changmin finishes, and, for one, _what_ , for two, _WHAT,_ and hangs up the phone before he can get to fucking three. “What the fuck?” he says to himself, and goes to sit down on the toilet.

The lid’s up, because Yunho’s the worst.

Changmin’s got his fancy jeans on for the airport already.

Changmin doesn’t even care.

On the bright side, it’s highly likely his little impromptu confession is likely to distract Kyuhyun from the whole, ‘Yunho-hyung is a fallen Star’ thing. On the less than bright side, the churning in Changmin’s gut isn’t so much at the fact that he shouted the confession in the first place. Instead, it’s mostly because Changmin has the rather sinking feeling that it’s true. Or at least, that it wasn’t so much as a desperate, hairbrained attempted to stun the memory of him betraying Yunho’s trust out of Kyuhyun’s immediate subconscious as it was--and Changmin puts his head in his hands and wails quietly once more--a rather unfortunate Freudian slip.

Changmin is fucked.

Minho is, no doubt, as Changmin sits, getting a play-by-play complete with colored illustrations and maybe a reenactment. Qian is probably getting paid in favors and IOUs. Junmyeon is probably too busy being surprised he’s somehow part of the exclusive group to be really take it in, which. At least there’s that.

Changmin lifts his head. “Fuck,” he says, out loud this time. “Yunho-hyung is going to fucking kill me.”

“Why, Changdol, I didn’t realize your self-esteem was that low,” says a voice, scaring the utter shit out of Changmin, and nearly sending him sprawling ungracefully _into the toilet_.

While that would be incredibly funny and also incredibly apt, Changmin is in his fancy going-to-the-airport jeans, so he gets to his feet with only slightly shaking knees and turns to face the music.

The music, of course, being Yunho, leaning into the bathroom door frame and…smirking?

Changmin’s too busy cursing his good fortune of not going swimming in the toilet bowl to really contemplate that, or to feel slightly weird about searing so openly in front of Yunho.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Changdol?” Yunho says, and he actually sounds amused more than anything. Nothing like he’s about to commit murder and leave Changmin to swim with the fishes, potentially in the toilet bowl.

Changmin manages to get a leash on his tongue and rubs angrily at the back of his head out of pure nerves. “Yunho-hyung,” he says.

Yunho doesn’t seem all that angry about Changmin violating his trust and privacy when they haven’t even gotten up the courage to tell the people who are directly responsible for their health and safety and really, really, actually need to know. In fact, he almost looks…pleased?

But that doesn’t make sense, because Kyuhyun is Changmin’s friend. At most, he and Yunho have snipee at each other in between dancing tips, because Donghee-hyung and Hyukjae-hyung were assholes who promoted Kyuhyun to dancer for ‘Bonamana’ two years ago and Yunho didn’t have anything better to do other than wallow and play angry basketball with Changmin. It’s not like Changmin would say Kyu and Yunho aren’t friends, but Yunho will never reneg on honorifics with him and Kyuhyun will never let his guard down because of that, and all in all it makes for less than comfortable interactions and Changmin arranging to meet Kyuhyun at the bar/his house/downtown/etc.

To be fair, Changmin’s pretty sure the reason Yunho will never let Kyuhyun speak down to him is because Heechul-hyung has yet to stop showing clips from _Intimate Note_ as some sort of ‘abandon all hope ye who enter here’ type propaganda. And like, having seen _Intimate Note_ , Changmin understands.

It still doesn’t explain why instead of looking livid that Changmin’s told Kyuhyun of all people his secret Yunho is almost grinning at him.

Although, now he looks sort of worried.

It’s possible that Changmin’s just been standing here for like minutes. He nearly swallows his own tongue in his haste to apologize. “Sorry!” he yelps. “Sorry, Hyung, I didn’t mean it!”

There’s a pause. “You’re… sorry?” Yunho says, but he’s definitely asking, because his voice goes up.

Changmin swallows again, sans tongue this time, and nods hurried. “Yes?” he says. He’s not asking, but his voice goes up also.

Yunho’s eyes are unintelligible, but he’s finally starting to look less pleased and more realistically livid. Unfortunately for Changmin, instead of that being a relief, now he’s even more nervous and worried and panicking because it turns out not even two full years of being partners can cure you of five long years of hero-worship. He’s not even having his usual reaction to Yunho’s disappointment of ‘fuck that I’ll show you.’ No, all Changmin is doing is feeling even more awful.

“Yes,” he says again, scrambling and floundering and angry at himself for all of it. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

Normally this would be about the time Yunho got sad and told him to stop acting like he was going to punish him or something, and normally about this time Changmin would get himself together and manage to stop apologizing like a sycophant, but unlike all those other times when Changmin was just tired and reacting as he would have were they five years ago and younger, Changmin actually has fucked up this time, and Yunho actually has a right to be angry.

“I just said it to… distract him,” Changmin continues, which is a lie, but it works anyway. “I panicked.” That’s true. “I didn’t mean to betray your confidence, Hyung, honestly--”

“Betray my confidence?” Yunho interrupts, and he actually looks a little scary now.

Changmin slams his arms down at his sides to stop from wringing his fucking hands. “Sorry,” he says again.

And then Yunho’s smiles, and it’s fake as can be.

Changmin’s stomach turns itself in knots.

Fuck.

“It’s fine, Changmin.”

The nicknames are gone. Changmin hadn’t even noticed them until they were gone.

Yunho’s smile doesn’t so much as dim. “Kyungjae-hyung called,” he says. “The car will be here in ten minutes.”

Changmin blinks, feeling like he’s got whiplash or something, but nods. Yunho’s certainly mad at him now, but now that his thoughts have had time to settle, he’s getting the sinking and nagging feeling that he wasn’t only two minutes prior. “Right,” he says.

Yunho dips his head at him and files out of the bathroom.

Changmin’s phone beeps.

He looks down.

He’s got several KakaoTalk messages from Kyuhyun as well as five missed calls, all of which were probably aborted the moment they went to voicemail. _Wtf, chwang_ , the texts say. _Wtf_.

Changmin licks his lips, eyes himself in the bathroom mirror for signs of whatever the fuck just happened, and then swipes the notifications clear without reading them.

The car will be there in ten minutes.

\--

“Changmin,” Kyuhyun says, and not even he’s using nicknames.

Hidden behind sunglasses and a carefully styled outfit, Changmin does his best to seem utterly nonplussed when he turns to his friend. “Kyuhyun,” he says. He sounds moderately well composed, if not slightly dreading being grilled for his love confession. But to be fair, he’s a fucking idol, and variety interviews are _filled_ with being grilled for scraps about your love life when you’re an idol. If Changmin can handle Park Myungsoo-hyung, he can handle Cho Kyuhyun.

“What did you mean Yunho-hyung is a fallen star?” Kyuhyun says.

Changmin is so grateful for the sunglasses.

“What the hell?!” he hisses, ears flaming and glancing around their aisle pointlessly in search of eavesdroppers. Everyone in the company is too used to Kyuline and their tendency towards airplane pranks, so while normally Changmin would be annoyed by the wide berth they seem to constantly get on group outings, now it’s working to his favor. He turns back around. “Kyu!”

Kyuhyun’s the one looking nonplussed now. “Have you been replaced by a pod person?” he asks. “Because I’ve heard a lot of love poetry in my life, Chwang, and there’s no way that Shim Changmin, my dearest and bestest born alone die alone friend, would go around spouting shit like ‘Yunho-hyung is a fallen angel.’” He licks his lips. “That’s too far. And also, he’s not that well read for metaphors like that.”

“Excuse me I read more than you,” Changmin snaps. “And about interesting shit like not _math_.”

Kyuhyun rolls his eyes. “You’re just jealous that math doesn’t love you like it loves me,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Changmin snaps.

“Sorry, no can do,” says Kyuhyun. “I value our friendship too much, and also, I think it would be pretty hypocritical of you to do that when you’ve just finished confessing to me that your affections lie elsewhere.”

It takes Changmin about five seconds to unravel that train of thought. Trains don’t even tangle; they’re _trains_. “Fuck you,” he says again.

Kyuhyun’s eye are dancing. “Again, I value our friendship--”

Changmin slaps a palm overtop his mouth. “Kyu,” he groans.

Kyuhyun very kindly stops talking.

Changmin takes a few well needed breathes. “Okay, for starters,” he says, keeping his voice quiet because there’s such a thing as keeping a wide berth to avoid getting a mustache drawn on you that requires a face mask and a manager angrily scrubbing at your face in a hotel room, and there’s giving up an opportunity to watch some other poor sap get the same treatment by sitting as close as possible to the scene of the crime. “I didn’t say a fallen angel.”

Kyuhyun’s eyebrows go up like he’s going to interrupt.

Changmin pinches the bridge of his nose as best he can over the sunglasses, and then pulls them down so that he can better stave off the tension gathering there. “I said fallen star.”

“Right.” Kyuhyun looks like the moment Changmin so much as _addresses_ the love poetry love confession part of the conversation he’s going to get a play-by-play through his love song discography and also probably become inspiration for Kyuhyun’s next solo pitch. The company has been denying Kyuhyun solos for years but only at face value; Changmin will not end up on Kyuhyun’s debut solo album because he accidentally confessed his love for is celestial being bandmate over the fucking _phone_.

He closes his mouth. “That’s it.”

“But you said--”

“There is no second thing,” Changmin interrupts, shoving his sunglasses back on. He glances around the cabin and finds Yunho, five rows ahead between Donghae-hyung and Sungmin-hyung. He’s in the middle of stealing Donghae-hyung’s earbud, and from the looks and sounds of it, Hyukjae-hyung already has the other one, so it’s not going well.

Sungmin-hyung shoots Changmin an oddly probing look, and Changmin looks away, instantly cowed. He glances back before he can help himself, keeping his head turned and thankful for the sunglasses.

Yunho hasn’t so much as reacted.

Changmin tries not to feel too bad about that. “I said fallen star,” he repeats to Kyuhyun, to get his mind off of it. He pauses, worrying for a second, and then concedes the teasing and taunting will help. “And it wasn’t love poetry.”

If Kyuhyun realizes what Changmin’s doing, he doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows, and ups the taunting by five.

Changmin is so thankful for their friendship. “It wasn’t,” he insists, and then, annoyingly, he flushes. He’d explain, but then he’d have to clarify that he meant it, and Yunho’s obviously mad at him for mentioning it. He deflates.

Kyuhyun grins. “That’s what I thought,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Changmin says, like a broken, still blushing record. “I’m demoting you from best friend.”

“Love you too,” Kyuhyun says instead this time. “And, please. You won’t last a week with Minho as your best friend.”

“I have other friends,” Changmin says, more than a little shrilly, and then gets out of his seat to make his point. Qian is too surrounded by her bandmates to be a viable escape and normally Changmin would head back to his and Yunho’s seats, but Yunho looks like he’s won the war for the headphones, which has Donghae-hyung rather bemusedly playing DJ for the best dancers in SM.

Everyone in EXO looks too starstruck at the prospect of SM Town period to be much help, but that’s fine, because Changmin has options. Those options might receive paychecks from the company, but they are _options_.

He’s saved by a manager, looking more than a little taken aback by Changmin standing to his full height in the aisle. “Changmin-ssi,” he says. “They want to take photos.”

Changmin bows, takes off his sunglasses, and follows the man with what he hopes isn’t too obviously an expression of dread back towards their seats. He takes the window seat, pulls his back into his lap as some sort of defense, and tries not to read too much into it when Yunho keeps his sunglasses on for the photoshoot.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/166267288665/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-522-k) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/917874633386418176)


	8. wish eight: to not be stupid. for feelings to be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which TVXQ get their shit together. Also in which Kinah and hexmen were the best betas ever. All other mistakes are my own.

**wish eight: to not be stupid. for feelings to be the same.**

\--

“Wow,” Kyuhyun says when Changmin finds him backstage. “Are you in the middle of a nervous breakdown?”

Changmin would punch him, but Changmin should technically speaking probably be anywhere but here; in Super Junior’s noisy, overcrowded, and honestly far more pleasant dressing room. Changmin should be following alongside in Yunho’s shadow, easily accessible and findable for their incredibly harried staff. Between all the media here for the press conference and all the groups present for the company-wide concert, things are crazy.

Changmin running off to hide among Super Junior’s coattails is probably helping no one.

But then, honestly, Changmin is probably having a nervous breakdown. “Kyuhyun,” he says. “Yunho-hyung hasn’t said a word to me since we landed.”

That’s a lie--Yunho passed him a hotel key when they got into the lobby and mumbled something about drafts and wanting the bed farthest from the door, but that doesn’t count. Especially when the moment they’d all been led on stage for the press conference Yunho hadn’t so much as spared him a glance--and had forced him to do nearly all of the talking. Kyuhyun was fucking there for that, so he should understand.

And certainly not be mocking him.

“You are definitely having a nervous breakdown,” Kyuhyun says. “Wow.”

“You said that already,” Changmin snaps nastily. “You’re the worst.”

“Look, Changmin,” Kyuhyun starts to say, and is interrupted by a shirtless Teukie-hyung, who wanders by holding an empty hanger.

“Changmin-ah,” Super Junior’s leader calls. “You’re back again? I’m going to find a way to mock you for this on variety.”

Changmin would normally quip right back because Leeteuk-hyung already _has_ , but normally Changmin prides himself on _not being nervous_ before shows period, and currently Changmin’s pretty sure his hands have been shaking for the past ten minutes. Tiny shakes. Not noticeable shakes at all. Hyoje-hyung probably refused to give Changmin a water bottle because Changmin wasn’t giving off a particularly parched vibe. Guyoung-hyung probably kept patting him on the back consolingly because he’s just that sort of hyung.

Everything is fine.

Leeteuk-hyung is staring at Changmin with blatant and unmasked concern. “Is he okay?” he asks Kyuhyun. “Should we call Yunho--”

“Can I talk to you alone!” Changmin interrupts frantically, saying fuck all and grabbing Kyuhyun by both hands. And, well, okay, maybe his hands are shaking but Yunho is _livid_ and Changmin _fucked up_.

To his credit, Kyuhyun just tightens his grip on Changmin’s hands and frowns.

“Is this about Yunho-hyung’s alter ego?” interjects Donghae-hyung, and wanders by also not wearing a shirt.

Changmin feels a headache start to bloom behind his temples, and it’s not because of body envy.

Kyuhyun is shooting him looks thinly run through with sympathy.

Changmin blinks a few times. “Wait,” he says finally. “What?”

“That he’s not of this world,” continues Donghae-hyung, still shirtless, still unfairly ripped, and now Changmin’s got a little body envy.

Hyukjae-hyung stalks by--thankfully wearing a shirt--and thwacks Donghae hyung right in the center of his chest. “Idiot,” he says affectionately. “He’s still of this world. He’s just not of this _planet_.”

Donghae-hyung takes the badly disguised groping with minimal fuss. “Right,” he says. “That.”

Changmin’s aware his mouth has fallen open, but he can’t quite drag his eyes away from whatever the fuck the two of them are doing now. Eye-fucking, he’d assume.

He turns back to Kyuhyun. “You _told_ them?” he accuses.

Kyuhyun raises both hands, letting go of Changmin. “In my defense, I didn’t know they were serious until you told me?”

Changmin blinks, more than a little confused. “What?”

Hyukjae-hyung and Donghae-hyung stop making loaded eye-contact and face towards Changmin with their arms crossed over their naked (and not naked but as good as naked--wow Suju have good shirts) chests.

“Changmin,” Hyukjae-hyung says. “We’ve known Yunho-hyung for longer than you. Did you really think he wouldn’t tell us?”

“Yeah, well, he lives with me,” Changmin snaps back, which instantly he realizes is a _terrible_ attempt at a comeback, but all of his energy is currently channeled into the sudden and all-encompassing _rage_ he’s feeling.

“Wait, was it supposed to be a secret?” Donghae-hyung says, which really only is the cherry on the top.

Changmin feels a twitch start high in his left cheek. That. Bastard.

There’s the sound of flesh on flesh.

“Ow,” Donghae-hyung says, but his voice sounds distant.

“Now you’ve done it,” Kyuhyun says, voice equally far away. “Chwang--”

“I need to go back to my dressing room,” Changmin says grimly. “See you all on stage.”

“Great,” he hears Kyuhyun says, and something else, but Changmin doesn’t care.

Changmin is too busy getting ready to murder.

\--

“Jung Yunho!” Changmin slams into the dressing room with grace, limited fanfare, and a whole lot of rage.

Yunho looks up from his iPad, eyes wide, and very slowly starts inching the thing--and the rest of his jumble of electronics, across the table and towards Hyoje-hyung, who glances between the two of them twice, before grabbing everything in two hands and booking it back towards the other dancers.

“Oh, Changmin-ah,” Sungchang-hyung says tiredly. “There you are.” He taps away at his phone, presses a button on the walkie talkie and relays the information to who knows where.

Changmin doesn’t care.

Changmin’s about to commit murder. “Jung Yunho,” he repeats.

Yunho steeples his hands in front of him and blinks, clearly at a loss. “Uhhh. Shim Changmin?”

“How dare you make a big deal out of me telling Kyuhyun your celestial secret when _Super Junior already knew_!”

“Celestial secret?” Yunho says, at the same time Hyoje-hyung drops all of Yunho’s electronics and mutters, “oh, are we acknowledging that we all know now?”

Changmin has no words. “Yah!” He strides further into the room, jabs a finger into the center of Yunho’s chest, and glares. “They also knew!”

“I mean, you weren’t really hiding it,” points out Guyoung-hyung, after it becomes clear as day that Changmin’s not going to say more and Yunho’s mostly just going to try to keep pretending to be invisible. “Also, you’re really chatty when you’re drunk, Yunho, sorry.”

Changmin opens his mouth and then deflates. That’s totally fair. Yunho has like no filter when drinking and Changmin’s ninety percent certain it’s a Star thing, so it’d be dumb to be mad about that. Like, Yunho can’t help it. But if everyone knew, he shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it. And like. The silent treatment. Changmin _detests_ the silent treatment.

“Whatever,” he says finally, feeling very awkward with his finger still jabbed in between Yunho’s breastbones. “I can’t believe I was _worried_.”

Yunho stops staring down at Changmin’s pointer and frowns. “Wait, Changminnie,” he says. “You thought I was mad about you telling Kyuhyun?”

“I thought I had broken our friendship forever,” Changmin continues, sinking into the seat next to Yunho and crossing his own arms across his chest. “Also, I can’t believe you made me answer that question by myself.”

Yunho looks like he doesn’t know what to do with Changmin or any of Changmin’s statements. Finally, he shifts over in his seat so they both fit better alongside the table. Their thighs are touching.

Changmin wants to shiver for some reason. It’s probably because their dumb costumes don’t include shirts or anything and are just freaking suit jackets. In maroon. Changmin looks horrendous in maroon. Yunho looks great, but Yunho would look good in a trash bag, which Changmin knows for a fact, since Changmin lived through 2010. Also, his bangs have fallen into his eyes again. The world sucks.

“I thought you hated me,” Changmin grumbles, and blows up at his hair mindlessly.

“Are you sure you’re twenty-five?” Yunho says finally, after a mild pause. The asshole reaches out to finger one of Changmin’s ears, and Changmin briefly entertains a thought of how nice that feels, leans into the scratch of his calluses, thinks about Yunho getting his beautiful calluses elsewhere, and then, with growing, mindless _panic_ , nearly upends the table in his haste to get away from him.

“Yah!” is all Changmin can manage. _What the fuck_? is all Changmin is thinking.

“You’re not really twenty-five,” says Yunho, grinning. “You’re still a baby.”

Changmin is back to seriously considering homicide. “Shut up,” he growls.

Yunho keeps smiling at him, teeth near glowing with his happiness. “You answered that question really well, Changminnie,” he says.

That’s the second time he’s called Changmin that this entire conversation, and yet still Changmin’s stomach is a mess.

“Shut up,” is all Changmin can manage. _Oh_ fuck _,_ is all Changmin is thinking.

“Hyoje-hyung,” Yunho says. “Give me my game back.”

Hyoje-hyung brings the iPad over with only a mild pause, glances between the two of them for another quick second, and then leans in to tug on one of Changmin’s ears.

“I _hate_ you,” Changmin says, twisting free of the grip, before stealing Yunho’s iPad straight out of his hands. “Hyung. You’re losing. Give it here.”

“I was not losing,” Yunho complains, pressing in close so that they’re nestled together again like nothing had happened. “I was winning--and then you came in shouting like a mad man because you thought I was mad about you telling them all I’m a Star--”

“Whatever,” Changmin says, blushing again despite himself. “You’re losing now.”

“Yeah, well, that’s cause Hyoje-hyung didn’t lock the iPad--”

“He was probably worried you’d forgotten your passcode,” interjects another dancer-hyung, coming around to gather on the other side of the table. “Again.”

Yunho rolls his eyes. “That was one time.”

“Don’t blame him,” says another dancer-hyung. “He’s what, two hundred million years old?”

Yunho scowls and goes to slap him.

“I can’t imagine even remembering people’s names at two hundred million years old--Yunho-yah.”

Yunho rolls his eyes.

“Who am I again?”

“Fired,” Yunho returns primly, before going back to watching Changmin play. His chin settles onto the meat of Changmin’s shoulder with almost no thought. “Kyungjae-hyung! Set up auditions for new dancers! We need like, three!”

“Yeah, whatever, Byul-ssi!” Kyungjae-hyung calls back, which gets him even more laughter. “You’re on in ten!”

Their staff titter amongst themselves, bemused, but Changmin is too focused on not dying way too soon into his gameplay, and also on keeping his shoulders as still as damn possible.

“I can’t believe you thought that’s why I was mad,” he thinks Yunho says, but when he turns away from the game to check--and subsequently, typically, dies--all he gets is a smile and pat on the back.

And then they have to go on stage and perform and dazzle.

“Honestly the fact that Yunho-hyung is a Star makes so much sense,” Kyuhyun says several days later, perched on Changmin’s hotel bed watching him scramble to make sure everything is packed. He’s got Changmin’s phone on his lap in front of him open to all the news articles about Yunho’s intense performance at the Google thing.

“Whatever,” Changmin says, tossing an auxiliary cord in the general direction of his bag, and then immediately feeling bad for how last minute and messy he’s being. “You’re just mad that he ruined your thing.”

Kyuhyun pauses, probably embarrassed. “You’re just mad you thought he was mad at you.”

Changmin scowls and lifts his head. “He was mad at me,” he snaps, striding back to take his phone back from Kyuhyun and then pauses. Huh. Yunho was most definitely really mad. Like. Even if it wasn’t the secret, Changmin’s been on the receiving end of a cold shoulder before, and that one was ice age inducing and not fake in the slightest. Unfortunately, it’s been nearly a week, two concerts, hours of sightseeing, and several time zones since, and Changmin has honestly no idea what he said that was so awful.

Kyuhyun is staring at him with calculating eyes. “And?” he prompts finally.

“And you’re sitting on my shirt,” Changmin says, ignoring him. “Get up.”

“Ow, ow,” Kyuhyun says, but falls gracefully where Changmin shoves him. “Mean.”

“Weak,” Changmin retorts, and grins. It’s not really important why Yunho was mad at him--he’s not anymore, and really, they’re too busy for more than just gratitude of that fact.

\--

In hindsight, the fact that it takes him a month--an entire fucking _month_ \--to so much as think about it is... It’s sad, is what it is. Changmin doesn’t even really have the defense of it having been a particularly busy month. For the most part, they’ve been in Seoul doing promotion for the movie and also prepping for their looming Korean comeback; for the least part, they’ve been out of the country for various SM Town stages and performances. Between that, they’re working on last minute Tohoshinki things (their single is due out in early July) and just general TVXQ things. They’re still spending more time together than is probably healthy, but there are no fights or anything.

If anything, Yunho’s even more patient with Changmin--because the fighting thing isn’t for lack of trying on Changmin’s part. He’s not really doing it on purpose, it’s just, it’s summer and they’re cooped up in studios or practice rooms or cars and it’s _getting_ to Changmin.

And yet Yunho’s surprisingly unfazed by all the snarking and snapping and frankly, pointless sniping that Changmin’s been doing about each and every thing.

When they get up the morning they’re flying to Hong Kong, Changmin finds things to be bothered about with Yunho’s entire outfit--the weird mismatched shorts, the swoosh the stylists give him in his hair, the fact that he’s wearing fucking _pink_ \--all of it.

Yunho just takes it all in stride without giving it back seriously, seemingly bemused by the lot of it.

It’s really fucking annoying, and only makes Changmin even worse.

“I pity the girl you end up with, Changmin,” Kyungjae-hyung says once they’ve gotten through security and are walking through the airport. Changmin’s just finished a truly inspiring tirade about how gross it is for Yunho to be putting his weird orange boat sneakers on the dashboard of the company car for the entire trip from their apartment to Incheon, and while Yunho hadn’t rolled his eyes or sniped back or done anything, it had honestly been rather cathartic and Changmin was feeling rather pleased with himself.

Kyungjae-hyung, by contrast, had watched the entire spectacle with his mouth open in barely masked horror, and was clearly worried about Changmin’s non-existent love life and non-existent to-be-wife.

Changmin frowns, not really bothered. “You’re assuming I even want to end up with anyone,” he says.

“You clearly do,” Kyungjae-hyung says, equally unbothered. “But I hope you don’t nag her as much as you nag Yunho-hyung.”

“To be fair, my shoes were on the dashboard the entire ride,” Yunho says--which, like, true, but _what the fuck_ is with all this _agreeing_ and smiling and not snarking Changmin right back?

Kyungjae-hyung rolls his eyes. “I mean clearly you’ve got that one wrapped around your finger,” he says, jabbing a finger in Yunho’s direction. “So I dunno. Maybe you’ll be fighting them off with a stick.”

“The only people I’m fighting off with sticks are the fans,” Changmin says dryly.

Yunho snorts. “I didn’t know your self-esteem was that low, Changmin,” he says, and then flicks his fucking bangs out of his glasses like the worst sort of tool.

Changmin stares at him--at the horrible entirety of him, in a white polo, half pink pants, the weird orange sneaker boat type shoes, the blocky _glasses_ \--and has a horrible, horrible, moment of déjà vu.

 _I didn’t know your self-esteem was that low, Changmin_ , Yunho had said a month ago in a bathroom, grin curling around his mouth and starlight sparkling in his eyes. _I’m fucking in_ love _with him_ , Changmin had shouted only moments prior, having probably a panic attack about it, on the phone with Kyuline. Then there had been more panic, and more anxiety, and Changmin had said he didn’t _mean_ it.

Fucking, fucking, _fuck_.

Yunho isn’t looking at him anymore; Kyungjae-hyung has wormed the conversation back around to Yunho’s own nonexistent love life and the show he did with Boa-noona and all the usual stuff about how lovely the two of them would be as more than friends, etc. etc.

They’re walking away without Changmin, and Changmin should follow, or say something, or do _anything_ , but all he can do is stand in the middle of Incheon airport with the blood roaring in his ears and the growing realization that he is an absolute and total _idiot_.

So then, par the course, he loses Yunho and Kyungjae-hyung to the sea of travelers.

“Wow,” Changmin says after a few more seconds of maudlin self-hatred. “I am an absolute idiot.”

Then he finds a pillar, tucks himself in behind it, and phones Minho.

“Do not hang up,” he starts with. “But, uh, have you spoken to Kyuhyun recently?”

Minho doesn’t hang up. Minho also sounds like he really shouldn’t be on the phone. “Changmin-hyung?”

It sounds like he’s somewhere busy, and based on the time, it’s probably an airport. Changmin doesn’t have the brain power to figure out SHINee’s schedule on top of TVXQ’s, but perhaps they have a concert out of the country. Oops. Changmin can’t really feel bad, however, because the alternative is calling Kyuhyun, and Kyuhyun would mock Changmin all the way to Hong Kong.

“Yes,” he tells Minho. “Now answer the question.”

Minho pauses for a moment. “Erm, I guess?” he says.

“Did he tell you about that thing I said last month,” Changmin says finally, quickly, because you’re supposed to do it how you rip band-aids. “About uh. Loving Yunho-hyung.”

There’s another pause.

Changmin tightens his grip on his bag and laptop and fights the urge to tap his foot.

“Wow,” Minho says. “I mean, congratulations? Changmin-hyung--”

“Ugh, shut up, you’re useless,” Changmin says, and then swears a few times in Japanese.

“What was that?” Minho perks up considerably at the cursing. “Say that again--I need something to say that’ll make Japan manager-hyungdeul _blush_.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Changmin replies, and hangs up the phone.

He doesn’t call Kyuhyun. He just. Texts him, and then closes the Kakaotalk app desperately, and then deletes the thing period, and then answers the phone call form Kyungjae-hyung with minimal hyperventilating.

“Changmin-ah,” Kyungjae-hyung says. “Where the hell are you?”

“Incheon,” Changmin replies promptly, with a false air of calm, and opens his mouth to snark more.

“Never mind,” Kyungjae-hyung continues. “Yunho and I are by the men’s room by Gate 5C.” The man pauses. “Be here.”

Changmin listens to the dial tone and blinks. “Right,” he says finally. “5C.”

When he arrives only slightly out of breath, Kyungjae-hyung is already walking them off toward their own gate, but Yunho smiles at Changmin.

“What happened?” he says, nudging an arm up against Changmin’s, and Changmin nearly drops his laptop in his haste to avoid the contact.

That finally gets him a frown, a minute furrowing between Yunho’s eyebrows and the unfortunate down turning of his unfairly pretty mouth, and while ten minutes ago Changmin would have been pleased to get that much, now it’s all he can do not to whimper like a dog.

“Kyuline,” he says somewhat desperately, and then pretends to be busy on his phone.

\--

Sometime over the Yellow Sea, Changmin decides to redownload KakaoTalk. Thus, sometime upon landing in Hong Kong for _Music Bank_ , Changmin receives the following messages:

 _Wow. I. Wow,_ from Choi Minomino, who seems rather shocked by the entire turn of events. _I thought you were joking_.

 _Could you just run that by me again?_ from Cho Gyu, who henceforth Changmin no longer knows. _Like, I think I understand but my life would be immensely better if I could hear you say:  
“Kyu I don’t think Yunho-hyung was mad at me for the star thing I think he was mad at me cause he thought I meant I was kidding about being in love with him oh fuck Kyu I’m in love with him fuck”_ _again._

Changmin doesn’t have time for immaterial things like friendship when he has to perform for a living. At most, he manages to find back time to fire back: _you asshole you never heard me say it in the first place I typed it_ , but that only gets him a, _true call me and say it so I can record it and send it to Heechul-hyung_ , which.

Deleting KakaoTalk is totally preferable to this abuse.

\--

“Okay, how bad of a friend would I be if I laughed at you?” asks Qian, munching loudly on an apple.

Changmin’s come to her for sanctuary, because being back in Korea means being subjected to Kyuhyun and Minho, and Changmin had only just redownloaded Kakaotalk when both of his sisters called him to tell him off for not responding to his mother. (His mother had wanted to know how Yunho was, because apparently the latest paparazzi photos of them all en route the airport had made him look tired or something. Changmin doesn’t know; Changmin doesn’t know when he got replaced as his mother’s son, honestly.)

His phone has buzzed a few times since, but Changmin isn’t responding. Hiding in Qian’s dorm with the rest of f(x) is better than whatever the hell his friends have in store from him.

“Yes,” Changmin answers Qian. “Now stop talking about it and like. Paint my nails, or something.”

Amber, who had been halfway out of the kitchen holding a glass of water, nearly sloshes the entire thing all over herself and f(x)’s living room floor.

Changmin takes his cue from Qian and ignores her.

“Paint your nails?” Qian repeats back tonelessly.

“Or braid my hair,” Changmin concedes, because management had let slip that his latest look for their Korean comeback was going to be short with a capital s, and f(x) has always wanted to braid him. Or… something. Qian mumbled something when Kyuline were smashed and Kyuhyun was the only one present and spent at least a week high fiving her and grabbing for Changmin’s bangs. It had been horrendous.

Changmin would risk that in favor of not talking about the elephant in the room.

“What?” Qian looks baffled; Amber has started mopping her mess up.

“Girly things,” Changmin explains after a small pause. “So Kyu and Minho stay away…should we help?”

“She’s fine,” Qian says waving a hand, as Amber lifts her head gratefully only to sputter at her unnie’s blasé response. “Girly things?”

“Girly things,” Changmin confirms. “The entire girly aura will just keep Kyu and Minho away or…something…um--”

“How bad of a friend would I be if I punched you in the dick?” interjects Qian before Changmin can quite finish that thought. “Girly things.”

Changmin puts both hands up in defense of his face, reconsiders, and goes to cover the important bits. Luckily there’s an entire table between his dick and Qian’s fists. Unluckily, Song Qian has never played fair.

“Fine, fine, just, use whatever feminine wiles you have to ward them off--”

“Feminine wiles,” Qian parrots back, reaching out to attack Changmin’s face. “Feminine _wiles_ , Chang _min_ \--”

The doorbell rings, abrupt and startling.

Qian pauses mid box of Changmin’s ears.

Changmin pauses mid sacrifice of a hand to protect his ears.

Amber straightens from her crouch. “That’ll be your other half,” she says, unbothered by the attempted murder by her bandmate. “I called him,” she goes on to explain to Changmin’s horrified expression. “It’s better than Kyuhyun and Minho right?”

She heads towards the door, one hand reaching for the handle.

“Uh, no,” Qian says.

“That’s actually _worse_!” Changmin wails.

“But aren’t you hiding from Kyuhyun and Minho?’ Amber asks.

“Only because they know I’m desperately in love with Yunho-hyung!” Changmin shrieks, right as the hell forsaken door swings open.

Yunho’s face, fixed up in a tired-looking but pleasant smile, falters.

Changmin has no idea how much of that he heard. Changmin has no idea if he wants to know how much of that Yunho heard. Changmin should invest in time machines so that he can go back to two seconds ago when the only thing he was worried about was Song Qian punching him in the balls.

Amber, at least, looks vaguely apologetic. She says nothing, however.

“Erm,” Yunho says finally, which really is no indication of whether or not Changmin needs to seriously consider the time travel options. “You, uh, called?”

He’s totally addressing Changmin.

Changmin would like the ground to swallow him whole.

“Yunho-oppa,” Amber intercedes, to what totally is a mental choir of school children ringing in Changmin’s ears. “You made it.”

Yunho smiles down at her politely. “You said I should I should come collect Changmin,” he says. “Erm, that I should come _help_ Changmin… that I should… that Changmin _needed_ me,” he continues, but it’s more of an unfortunately blush causing ramble than a sentence. Towards the end of it Yunho just seems to give up, shrugging and smiling in a charmingly endearing way that makes Changmin just want to hug him or something what the fuck.

Yunho’s stopped now, looking incredibly awkward suddenly, and great. Changmin hopes to fuck that he didn’t overhear anything, because otherwise this looks surely like rejection.

“Yeah, I’m out,” says Qian suddenly. “Changmin.”

Changmin jumps in his seat, startled. Qian’s still holding onto one of his ears. She doesn’t seem particularly inclined to stop.

“I’m texting Kyu.” She lets go of his ear with a smirk and stands, turning to Yunho with a lyingly sweet smile. “It was nice to see you, Yunho-oppa.”

Yunho dips his head back at her, clearly at a loss. “Likewise.”

“Changmin.” Qian grins.

“Noona,” Changmin whimpers.

“Suck up,” Qian quips back. She’s already got her phone out.

Changmin can only watch in horror.

“Um,” Yunho says. “I can come back?”

“No, Hyung, it’s fine,” Changmin says hurriedly, and wow, that raspy, dying thing is the voice that won him multiple awards. Wow. Changmin clears his throat a few times, a little faint. “Thanks for coming.”

Yunho still looks mildly concerned. “We’ve got the movie thing tomorrow,” he say slowly. “And then The Mission in Japan.”

Changmin waves a hand, collecting his thoughts and facilities enough to stand up to go collect his shoes and material possessions. There’s not much--just his shoes and wallet--because he tries not to bring too much stuff with him to Kyuline--especially Qian, because the fans (and press) would have field days.  

“Right,” replies Changmin. His voice still sounds like a cat’s tongue. His shoes are over lined up next to the rest of the people in f(x)’s dorm. He’s going to go over, grab them, grab Yunho, and pretend none of this ever happened.

“Are you getting sick?” Yunho’s voice sounds frown-filled. If Changmin’s not careful, he’s going to be woken in the middle of the night by Yunho, standing over him glowing with a furrowed brow and both hands pressed to some unfortunate part of Changmin like his shoulders or _naked chest_ rambling on about healing and bone regeneration and purring or some shit. And, great. All of Changmin’s metaphors are about cats now. It’s Kyuhyun’s fault, because Kyuhyun asked the question “why do cats purr?” and then forwarded Changmin articles detailing theories with the helpful and oh so wonderful contribution of “look, Chwang, isn’t this what you were saying Yunho-hyung does only with less vibration and more groping?”

Clearly (unfortunately) the thought’s stuck around.

Changmin glances up.

Yunho and Amber appear to be having a hushed conversation. Amber giggles. Yunho swats at her.

Changmin feels his eyes narrow into tiny pinpricks before he can help himself.

Then he looks down quickly, horrified. “Right.” He stands holding both of his shoes. “You’re right, Hyung, it’s late. We should go home.”

Amber’s eyebrows lift, gaze darting between the two of them curiously, but Changmin ignores her, staring Yunho down, daring him to say something.

It’s Amber who speaks. “You weren’t kidding,” she says, so she and Yunho were definitely talking while Changmin was having a midlife crisis overtop shoes. “Good luck, Oppa.” She reaches up to pat Yunho on the bicep.

Changmin can’t quite help but glower.

Amber lifters her eyebrows right back at him, unbothered.

Changmin feels his lips start to pull back a little, but Amber just keeps smiling, infinitely amused.

“Um,” Yunho sounds severely at a loss. “I didn’t say that?”

Changmin blinks rapidly a few times, trying to rewind the conversation. “What?” he says, then lifts a hand before Yunho can clarify. “You said The Mission,” he says. “We should go.”

Amber shakes her head. “Wow,” she says. “Wow.”

Yunho’s mouth opens but Changmin doesn’t care. He drops his shoes, shoves into them both without a care for the tongues or laces, bows quickly to Amber, grabs Yunho, and hustles them both out of the door with a call of “Bye, now.”

“Bye, oppas!” Amber replies through the door. “And Changmin-oppa! You’re welcome!”

Changmin stumbles, but he blames that on the shoes, and not the audacity of his juniors. Bending down to take care of the mess on his feet seems the most logical course of action. And it also means he doesn’t have to look at Yunho. Unfortunately, it means Yunho gets to look at him.

Changmin’s laces aren’t cooperating.

Yunho’s stare is heavy on the back of his nape.

It’s embarrassing.

Changmin is embarrassing. This entire night, world, _wow I love you fuck I’ve loved you_ for a month situation is _embarrassing_.

For a blessed moment, no one says anything.

And then Changmin’s phone kakaos at him. Changmin reaches back into his pocket to silently power his phone off. Knowing Qian, it’s Kyuhyun, and knowing Kyuhyun, Changmin will never live the entire _wow I’ve been in love with Yunho-hyung this entire time_ situation down.

“Sorry,” Changmin says, going back to his laces. Maybe he can blame exhaustion.

Yunho doesn’t say anything, and it’s either very kind, or very cruel. Normally Changmin would know, because normally Changmin can always kind of _tell_ with Yunho, even when they’re furious at each other or not speaking. But currently, he’s flying blank. It’s just that kind of awful day.

His laces settle into neat bows.

Changmin stands. “Is manager-hyung waiting downstairs with the car?” If he looks straight ahead at nothing everything will be just fine.

“I walked,” Yunho replies. “Changminnie, are you sure you’re not sick--”

“You _walked_?” Changmin blurts out, interrupting that trainwreck of a thought and redirecting them to other safer ways to go off the rails. “What the _fuck_ , Hyung?”

Looking at him now--really looking--Yunho looks like he trekked across Seoul incognito to fetch Changmin from f(x)’s dorm. He’s got on a hoodie and sweatpants, with a snapback turned around holding the hood up, but it’s summer and he looks miserable. He also looks completely recognizable. Changmin’s not sure if it’s the height, the name brand on his snapback, or both. Either way, it’ll only be pure luck that will keep Yunho off of the fansites.

“Hyung!”

“Oops?” Yunho tries on a smile.

Changmin pulls his phone back, powering it on with only a tiny twitch in his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not also an idiot,” he says, waiting for his phone to wake up so he can bypass Kyuhyun’s taunting to summon his own manager, whom Changmin had sent off with multiple assurances that he didn’t need to stick around and that Changmin would just figure something out. The man had taken one look at Changmin’s face, which no doubt had looked like he’d just embarked on a red light and accidentally ruined a love confession, and laughed.

“Call me when you’re ready to face the music,” Sungchang-hyung had said, and then vanished before Changmin could do something about that.

Which, in hindsight, that was probably why Amber had called Yunho in the first place. Even Qian had wanted to take his temperature when he rushed into the apartment.

But Changmin is getting off track. His phone loads and he keys in his passcode.

“Sorry, Changminnie,” Yunho says, and he sounds it, but Changmin doesn’t care.

KakaoTalk opens him right into the middle of Minho and Kyuhyun’s bullying, but Changmin doesn’t have time for than a brief mourning for the fact that all of their messages are going to be marked as read.

 _I’m ready_ , he tells Sungchang-hyung, not even bothered by the terseness of the conversation. Then he frowns, and adds, _Yunho-hyung is here_ as an explanation and an apology all rolled into one.

 _Five minutes_ , Sungchang-hyung replies. _And don’t kill him_.

“Yunho-hyung?” Changmin lowers his phone. “Is there something on my back?’

Yunho’s head tilts to the side. “What?”

“A sign, maybe, that says ‘Shim your sunbae/employer Changmin, entirely undeserving of any form of basic respect.’”

Yunho blinks at him. “What?” He reaches out to pull Changmin’s phone towards him, clicking the power button. “I didn’t know Kyuhyun was your employee.”

“What?” It takes Changmin too long to realize Yunho’s basically staring down at his notifications as Kyuline rip into him for _being in love with Yunho_ , but in his defense, Yunho didn’t so much as pull Changmin’s phone towards him as he did grab both of Changmin’s hand in his own and pull them and Changmin’s phone at him. They’re holding hands. It’s all Changmin can do not to blush to the tips of his toes.

Yunho is still watching the phone, eyes pulling into little half smiles.

Changmin snaps the fuck out of it. “What? No?” he says, hauling his phone back and pressing against his suddenly racing heart. “Hyung, privacy.”

Yunho lifts both of his hands. “Sorry.” He couldn’t sound less so.

Changmin glares, and then pulls his phone away to examine the damage. Thankfully, all Kyuhyun’s managed to get off are more star emojis than Changmin thought Apple had even had the foresight to invent. Minho’s sent every single heart and then some, but Changmin’s just glad they hadn’t sent words.

He’s really dodged a bullet.

“I hire all of my good friends, I’ll have you know,” he says, bluffing up a smirk for good measure. “I’m textbook…tsundere… fuck.” His Japanese is clunky, almost like he doesn’t know what he’s doing with the joke, which. Changmin doesn’t know what he’s doing with the joke.

Yunho doesn’t seem bothered however. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Aren’t you the one with dating scandals?”

Changmin sputters, blushing despite himself. “Shut up--yours was _worse_!” he snaps. “Your girlfriend actually broke up with you! I wasn’t even dating Minho!”

“I wasn’t dating Heechul,” says Yunho. “But you’re right, I guess.” He grins. “You’re the one absconding late into the night with Qiannie, though.”

“Nine o’clock is not late,” Changmin protests, glancing down as his phone chirps. “And also, I wasn’t absconding. Nor was I seen.”

Sungchang-hyung is outside the building, so Changmin starts nudging Yunho towards the elevators.

“ _You_ probably were.”

Yunho goes where he’s herded with obvious bemusement. “Mmm,” he hums. “You’re probably going to be in the _papers_.”

“I am _not_ ,” Changmin retorts, mature to a fault. “ _You are_!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Changdol,” Yunho says, and Changmin _detests_ him.

Only, no, he doesn’t, which is the entire crux of the matter to begin with. “You’re the worst, Hyung,” he scowls. “I hate you.”

“I love you too, Changmin-ah,” chirps Yunho, and then, right as the elevator doors ding open, leans in to peck Changmin straight on the lips.

As first kisses go, it’s pretty fucking shit, mostly because it lasts all of two seconds and is over well before it can begin. It sets Changmin’s heart racing and the blood rushing all about his face and turns his ears into twin beacons of fire.

Yunho doesn’t seem to notice, standing inside the elevator with his phone out, one foot tapping absentmindedly.

Changmin is going to let the doors slide close so that he can beg Qian to let him move in with f(x). Hair braiding and feminine wiles sound like a piece of cake by comparison.

“Changmin-ah?” The doors stop mid close. “Are you coming?”

Changmin looks down to see that Yunho’s got a finger on the hold door button, one eyebrow quirked. He looks so unfairly unaffected by everything.

Changmin narrows his eyes.

“I guess you can just walk home, then,” says Yunho, pulling his hand back.

“Very funny,” says Changmin, stepping into the elevator with his arms crossed.

Yunho just hums, and pressed the button for the lobby. “Thought so.” He pulls his phone back out. Clearly, the conversation--and fucking _kiss_ \--is over.

Okay then. Yunho starts to hum ‘Android.’

Changmin stares straight ahead. He’s so screwed.

And confused.

But mostly screwed. So very very screwed.

And not in the good way.

\--

Kyuhyun cannot stop laughing.

Changmin is actually going to murder him this time, because for once, nothing about this situation is funny. His fingers are twitching with the urge to strangle and he’s probably got a permanent eye twitch at this point.

“I mean,” says Minho, standing a safe distance away, hiding the alcohol. “It kind of really is.”

Changmin glowers at him, confused.

“Really funny,” Minho explains. “You said it wasn’t funny, but it’s actually fucking _hilarious_.”

Changmin hadn’t realized he was saying all of that out loud, but whatever. “It is not.”

Minho lifts both brows.

“Chwang,” interrupts Kyuhyun. “You spent your entire trip to America worried you’d somehow ruined your relationship with Yunho-hyung by outing him as a celestial fucking being.”

Changmin frowns. “Yeah, well--”

Kyuhyun isn’t done. He slaps a hand over Changmin’s face. “And _after that_ , you spent an entire month not realizing that the _real reason_ Yunho-hyung was pissed at you wasn’t because you’d blown the lid off his big secret but was _instead_ because he’d overheard you say you were desperately in love with him--”

“That is absolutely not what I said--”

“And then immediately following that you said you were _joking_ \--”

“I panicked,” Changmin says primly, shoving Kyuhyun’s fingers aside.  “Can you go back to being incapable of speech now?” His fingers have leveled up from twitching to claws.

“Nope.” Kyuhyun isn’t even bothered. “Because now you’re _afraid to go home_ because Yunho-hyung _fucking kissed you_!”

“You’re right, it’s pointless for me to be staying here,” says Changmin, going to stand not blushing _at all_.

“Your life is a goddamned _sitcom!_ ”

“You once drunk dare ordered a rose gold vibrator and had it accidentally delivered to Heechul-hyung who _to this day_ you still haven’t told!” Changmin screeches, eyes blazing with the fires of scorned friendship. “You fucker! Shut up!”

“Changmin-ah!” Kyuhyun cries, at the same time there’s a high pitched “Ah-hah!” from a room down a hall and then the thump of what sounds like someone falling off a bed.

Changmin blinks. He’d really only said that because Kyuhyun had said that Heechul-hyung was on the top floor now. Clearly he was over--probably bothering Hyukjae, who’d only asked after Donghae-hyung and gotten two for the price of one.

“I knew it!” Heechul-hyung roars. “Kyuhyunnie you’re DEAD!”

In case that wasn’t enough, Kyuhyun’s phone starts buzzing threateningly.

Kyuhyun’s eyes narrows equally threateningly. “I’ll never forget this,” he whispers.

Changmin throws up his hands. “Forget what?”  he exclaims. “Your entire fucking dorm knows all about my embarrassing crush on Yunho-hyung now! You had it _coming_!”

There’s a beat.

“Um,” says Sungmin-hyung from outside the door. “Well, we do now.”

“Good luck Changmin-ah!” adds Teukie-hyung. “We’re rooting for you!”

“I want to fucking die,” says Changmin, sitting down heavily on Kyuhyun’s bed.

“Serves you fucking right,” Kyuhyun says emphatically.

“You’re both idiots,” interrupts Minho, smacking Kyuhyun in the face with a pillow. “Why am I friends with you again?”

Changmin exchanges a split-second look with Kyuhyun, before pouncing, ready-to-strangle-fingers now well oiled tickling machines.

Kyuhyun gets Minho’s arms behind his back in under two seconds, dodging their friend’s feet and legs masterfully. “It’s because you _love_ us Minho-yah,” he croons, grin stretched across his face straight out of a DC comic book. “You love us like _family_.”

“I do--haha--I do--haHA--I do _not_!” Minho shrieks, and fights, and kicks, and tries to kick Changmin’s teeth in.

Teukie-hyung pounds on their door after a few minutes of this to tell them to keep it down and Kyuhyun takes it upon himself to lament the fact that none of his hyungs care about the fact that just a minute ago Changmin and Minho had united under the banner of we’re both your dongsaeng and staged a massive and successful coup.

The rest of evening goes par the course: video games and teasing and no more alcohol, and absolutely no mention of the fact that just a day ago Yunho was kissing Changmin.

\--

Yunho. Keeps kissing Changmin. He comes home all seriously from seeing his friends at a musical, takes Changmin by both cheeks, and then just sort of. Plants one; he monopolizes the aisle seat because he’s got on a fucking romper and the moment they unlock their Japanese apartment he’s walking by Changmin like “thanks for that, Changdol, peeing in that thing was a nightmare--I don’t know how girls do it” and fucking _kissing him_ on the mouth while _Kyungjae-hyung_ and all their Japanese managers stand in the background looking about ready to jump fucking ship.

Changmin’s got whiplash.

And also, unfortunately, something of an addiction.

The thing is.

Awfully.

Amazingly.

 _Tragically_.

Yunho is really good at kissing. Like. Really, really good. It’s distracting. It means that instead of pulling away and slapping the Star like “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” like Changmin really should do, Changmin instead usually ends up with his eyes closed and his cheeks on fire because Yunho is really, _really unfairly good at kissing_.

Once, Changmin even finds himself entertaining the idea of adding tongue to the mix, only, nope, no, not at all he will _not_. He and Yunho haven’t even talked about the confession thing. Although, clearly, Yunho would not be opposed.

Changmin would go so far to say they had suddenly started dating, only, clearly they haven’t, because Yunho’s the only one instigating the making out, and also. They still haven’t talked about the confession thing.

It’s straight out of a Drama, and needless to say: Kyuline is utterly unsympathetic. Even Qian-- _Qian_ \--has taken to answering his frantic 3AM phone calls by _laughing_ at him. It’s gotten so bad that Changmin has to collect call all of EXO K in order to locate Junmyeon, and then Yunho wanders in and _kisses Changmin_ , and then monopolizes Changmin’s phone and minutes in order to give all of EXO K important sunbae advice.

Changmin is going insane.

“Okay, but Changmin,” says Kyuhyun, in the middle of a massive company wide photoshoot in celebration of the SM Art Exhibit thing. “You’re basically dating Yunho-hyu--”

“No one haha no one!” Changmin interrupts, voice high and loud and carrying but whatever the press are here and Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim himself is over in the corner giggling with Boa-noona and company. “I am dating _no one_ ,” he says emphatically. “You _dick_ \--”

“You shouldn’t curse on camera, Changminnie,” says Yunho, walking by with two stylist-noonas fluffing up his fluffy fucking bangs. He’s gone before Changmin can do more than glower at his non-existent ass and come to hate the color magenta more than any color in the fucking world.

“I. Hate him,” Changmin tells Kyuhyun, still emphatically but not at all convincingly. Fuck. Yunho hadn’t even touching him, but he’d used the same tone that Changmin’s unfortunate heart is starting to have Pavlovian responses of ‘kisses are incoming’ to.

He shakes his bangs down into his eyes and counts to ten.

Fuck.

Kyuhyun is watching him with blatant schadenfreude. “Wow,” he says. “Okay, I almost do feel bad for you.”

Changmin opens his eyes balefully. “Thanks,” he says. “You’re too kind.”

“No, well, I mean you are basically dating.”

“We are not,” snaps Changmin.

“But you’re mad about it because you don’t want to be basically dating until you’ve finished confessing to him and he’s finished confessing to you.”

Changmin crosses his arms over his chest, catches the eye of one of the Soshi girls across the way, feels chastised instantly, and nods and looks down. “I don’t know how things work in space, clearly, but here on Earth that’s kind of how these things _go_ ,” he says.

Kyuhyun snorts. “In space. Your life is literally unreal,”

Changmin groans. “Tell me about it.”

“At least you’re getting some on the regular, though,” says Kyuhyun, and then thumps Changmin loudly on the back a few times when he chokes on his own saliva.

“Changminnie.” Yunho appears like a freaking meerkat, stylist-noonas still fussing around his hair. “Seonsaengnim wants to see us.”

Changmin nods because he is a consummate professional. He elbows Kyuhyun in the side on his way to Yunho’s, but no one notices, so whatever.

\--

August is, for the most part, anticlimactic. Yunho stops kissing Changmin quite so much, which, while not constantly and to the point where Changmin is developing permanent stress lines, is still pretty annoying. Their schedules mellow out slightly in the middle only to ratchet right back up with the announcement of their comeback album and tour.

They’re in rehearsals with Tony learning the choreography for all the new stuff and then they’re in studios with Youngjin-hyung recording the new stuff.

Yunho has passport issues before A-Nation.

Changmin learns the hard way that guitar calluses are the worst.

Then, just before they’re scheduled to film the new music video, Changmin gets his hair hacked straight off.

“Wow,” Yunho says, watching him from the corner getting a trim.

A _trim_.

“I don’t know if it really makes you look younger.”

“Do not say anything,” Changmin says, keeping very still so the stylist doesn’t fuck up his newfound baby bangs. He’d been okay with the color when it was still long and flopping everywhere in counter to Yunho’s more close cut sides, but now that it’s all falling well above his ears, he’s starting to regret the blasé attitude he’d had about the trim in the first place.

Trim.

This is not a trim.

“I mean, I still love you, of course,” says Yunho, in a flippant tone that suggests Changmin is going to lie awake for ages about this if he doesn’t say anything in response. “But it’s… rather drastic, I think.”

“Yeah, hold the fuck on,” Changmin snaps, vulgar and impolite and turning his head abruptly to the side.

He doesn’t lose an ear, but his stylist gasps like he’s going to, and when all the staff in the room have finished panicking and laughing nervously, Changmin gets to squint into a mirror at the state of his bangs.

They’re uneven.

“Great,” says Changmin.

“I take that back,” says Yunho, still flippant, but when Changmin takes advantage of the crisis negotiation going on over his shoulder to look back over, the Star is blushing down into his phone.

Changmin’s eyes narrow.

He gets up with one hand on the smock, shaking pieces of hair off his ears as he goes.

Yunho just keeps staring down at his phone, back of his neck bright red.

Changmin stands over him threateningly for a few blissful seconds. “Yunho-hyung,” he says very slowly. “What exactly do you mean?”

Yunho still won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean, Changminnie,” he says.

Changmin shakes his uneven bangs off his eyebrows, winces as the action blows hair into his eyes. “Why do you keep kissing me?”

Their staff seem to have finished with the last minute bang discussion (hair gel and hairspray seem to have been the approved solution) but someone definitely stumbles when Changmin speaks. Changmin glances over reflexively to find Kyungjae-hyung getting told off for knocking hair products off a table. He rolls his eyes, then looks back around.

Yunho’s not even doing anything on his phone because it’s locked in his hands.

Changmin reaches out to take it from him, and, with more glee than probably necessary, makes sure to touch as much of Yunho’s hands as possible.

Yunho fucking. Glows a little.

“Unfair,” whispers Changmin. “You’re stealing my moment.”

“Sorry, Changdol!” Yunho’s voice is higher than Changmin’s ever heard it outside a vocal booth, and when he finally looks up, there are two spots of color high on both of his cheeks. Combined with the way his new hair is falling across his forehead and the way his skin is lighting up with unexplainable brightness, he looks breathtaking.

Changmin hates his life. “You are _stealing_ my moment,” he repeats. “Hyung.”

Yunho takes a few gulping breaths and somehow manages to get himself to stop glowing quite so noticeably. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry.” He takes another breath. “Okay. Continue.”

“Continue,” says Changmin. “ _Hyung_.”

Yunho’s still blushing, but now he’s fucking smiling. “Changmin-ah,” he replies. “Look, I’ve just been waiting for so long--”

“You’ve been waiting for so long!” Changmin’s aware that he’s shouting now and their staff are all frantically whispering at the side but he doesn’t care. “You’ve spent the entire two months too busy kissing me--”

Yunho’s eyes light up and he moves in once again and Changmin goes stumbling back with a maniacal look in his eye. He sticks the hand holding Yunho’s phone in the air.

“Nope!” he says. “Nope--you’re not doing that _again_ \--!”

“But Changmin.” Yunho is fucking pouting and fucking glowing again. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“Maybe in space they do!” snaps Changmin, sticking his other hand out in half-hearted defense in case Yunho comes for him again. “But here on earth, humans prefer to talk about things before doing them!”

Yunho blinks.

Changmin blinks.

“Did that make any sense?” Sungchang-hyung whispers.

“Shhh!” the stylist-noonas whisper-shout.

Changmin starts to blush. “My point is,” he says, trying to save face. “Is that you really shouldn’t go around kissing people without their consent. Yunho-hyung.”

Yunho’s face falls a little. “Oh,” he says. “Did you not want to--?”

“If you finish that sentence I will fucking call NASA,” snarls Changmin, bright red in the face and reaching out to grab Yunho by the shirt collar. The hair smock stays on, somehow, but Yunho’s phone ends up pressed in between their bodies, well and truly caught in the crossfire and no doubt pressing uncomfortably into Yunho’s collarbones.

Yunho says nothing about it for a long moment. Then he licks his lips. “Okay.”

Changmin’s eyes dart down before they can help themselves. “Gah,” he says, and gives Yunho a shake. “You’re not _listening_ to me.”

“Look, Changdol, I know.” Yunho puts both of his hands on top of Changmin’s and gives them a gentle squeeze, before working on gentling them period, probably trying to save his shirt. In hindsight it’s Changmin’s shirt, so he should really try to help, but all of Changmin’s attention is focused on whatever the fuck bullshit is coming out of Yunho’s mouth. “But you were taking so _long_.” Yunho stops tugging at Changmin’s fingers and settles for just sort of stroking both thumbs over the back of Changmin’s hands. “I just wanted to give you a hint.”

That’s. Really unfairly sweet and absurd. Changmin is in love with an idiot. “Still,” he manages. “You can’t just go around kissing people without asking first.” He swallows. “Humans. People. Not. Stars.” He finally lessons his grip on Yunho’s shirt and drops his chin down to meet his neck. “Fuck, just kiss me and put us all out of our misery.”

“I’ll say,” says Kyungjae-hyung. Someone punches him. “Ow!”

Yunho ignores all of them. “I don’t want to be kissing any other people,” he says. “Or humans.”

Changmin’s head comes back up. “I should _hope_ not,” he says emphatically, before he catches sight of Yunho’s grin.

“But I love it when you get technical, Changdol.” Yunho lets go of Changmin’s hands and puts both of them on his biceps. “Humans.” He smirks. “Stars.”

“Oh, I _hate_ you,” says Changmin, and hauls him in so that _he_ can kiss _him_ this time.

“Mmm, mixed signals, Changmin,” says Yunho, but Changmin gives no fucks anymore.

He tightens his hold on Yunho’s shirt and walks both feet forward until Yunho is pinned between Changmin and the make up table he was standing in front of.

Yunho hisses, the phone clearly finally becoming a hindrance, but Changmin just takes advantage of the parting of his lips to rocket the kiss up a few notches.

Yunho makes a few noises of protest, hands twitching where they’re nestled in Changmin’s smock thing, which finally loses the war and ends up fluttering to the ground behind him like some sort of elaborate cape.

Changmin makes a few noises right back, head tilting to change the angle before the need to breathe takes precedence.

He pulls back but barely to find that Yunho’s eyes are the ones closing despite themselves now. Changmin risks a small smirk. “What were you saying, Hyung?”

Yunho’s eyes blink open. “Mmm?”

His lips look tender. Changmin just wants to go back in for more kisses, which, in hindsight, he understands why Yunho kept kissing him. “Ah I get it, now,” he says out loud, because it feels like he should. “I see the appeal.”

Yunho blinks at him some more. “Mmm?”

“Have I broken you?” says Changmin. “Words, Yunho-hyung. I can kiss you again if you want to be even more of a cartoon character.”

“Oh, shut up, Changminnie.” Yunho leans back against the make up table some more.

Changmin shrugs. “I’m just saying,” he says. “It’s kind of perfect.”

“It is _not_.”

“If we dyed your hair red it’d be _better_ ,” says Changmin. “You’d even have _Star_ in your name.”

“Koriand’r does not contain the word _star_ ,” snaps Yunho, cheeks flaming. “You dick.”

Changmin’s dick is really into this conversation all of a sudden. “Yunho-hyung,” he says in a whispered hush. “You’ve read _Teen Titans_?”

“Oh my God,” whines Yunho, and leans in to kiss Changmin again. “Oh my Goddddd why am I in love with you?” He complains the last bit right up against Changmin’s lips, distracting and delicious and making Changmin’s heart skip way too many beats. Then he manages to disengage from their embrace without knocking anything over.

“I love you too,” Changmin blurts, feeling naked all of a sudden. “Just. I love you too.”

Yunho won’t look at him.

Changmin would worry, but he wagers all their staff can tell Yunho is blushing.

“I uh, need a moment,” he says.

There’s a mild pause. Someone hits someone.

“Oh, right, okay, that’s fine,” says Kyungjae-hyung, the sacrificial lamb.

“Awesome.” Yunho’s voice is very low.

He doesn’t so much as look as anyone on his way out of the room.

There’s another mild pause. And then the entire hallway lights up in a blaze that would probably have been blinding, if it weren’t for the fact that Yunho closed the door. Some of it comes glinting underneath, but everyone has the foresight not to look at it too directly. Everyone in the hallway, by contrast, isn’t quite as lucky, probably, so Changmin winces despite how light as air he feels.

“We’ll work on that,” he tells Kyungjae-hyung.

Yunho’s manager gives him the thumbs up.

The light under the door dims.

Yunho reappears back into the room. “Right.” His smile is somehow even more brilliant than his lightshow. “I’m ready now.”

“Fuck,” Changmin whispers, well and truly _fucked_ , and stalks across the room so that he can _kiss_ Yunho.

“Fuck, fuck, Changmin-ah!” shouts their staff from behind them, but Changmin doubly doesn’t care. He can close his eyes. 

“I’m blind now,” says Sungchung-hyung after a pause. “We deserve a raise.”

“They’re going to be insufferable from now on, aren’t they,” agrees Kyungjae-hyung.

Changmin pulls away from Yunho’s mouth with a scowl, notes that the glowing has reduced considerably, and after exchanging a smile with Yunho, flips the both of them off.

“Shut up you _love us_ ,” he says.

“But I love you more,” says Yunho.

“Oh my _God_ ,” choruses everybody else.

“We’re not fixing your bangs-- _out_ ,” says Changmin’s favorite stylist-noona. “Out!”

Changmin grins, and grabs Yunho’s hand, and drags his own personal wishing Star straight out the door.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3\. Reblogs/Retweets/COMMENTS/KUDOS are LOVEEEEEEE.
> 
> Tentatively we have a total chapter number now!!! Also, in the spirit of shameless self promo, I'm about to also post a giant ABO au so you should all go check out the first of that [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/709125).
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/168252675365/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-61-k) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/938376336283963392)


	9. wish nine: for forever. and ever. and ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we FREAKING DID IT. Or rather, I fREAKING DID IT. It only took five months but at last Starfic is DONE. Shout out to hexmen, Aixing, and Kinah for being best cheerleaders and to hexmen and Kinah for the amazing job betaing this trainwreck of a chapter. All other mistakes are my own. ENJOY.

**wish nine:** for forever. and ever. and ever.

\--

Shockingly, going from being well matched coworkers with chips on their shoulders to being well matched period (but still with chips on their shoulders because just because they’re sharing a bed and most showers doesn’t mean that Changmin’s going to give Yunho a free pass for all his shoe crimes and where he leaves the toothpaste) is surprisingly easy.

It’s almost like breathing.

They film the ‘Catch Me’ music video and Changmin still manages to be annoyed at how much of a perfectionist Yunho is; they film like five variety shows and Changmin still manages to be annoyed at how much a colossal failure Yunho is. They fuck for the first time, and Yunho tries to get all romantic and call it “making love” but Changmin is a _man_ and doesn’t have time for that kind of base sentimentality. He might mass text Kyuline about losing his virginity again (to men or… Stars, at least) and he may start to smile mindlessly whenever his brain turns off when he’s alone, but that has nothing to do with that. He and Yunho are fucking now. It’s fine. It’s normal.

“It’s more than just fine, I’d hope,” says Yunho, sprawled shamelessly across Changmin’s bed on his back.

Changmin’s just come off two flights in two days, and even though they’d both been routine one hour trips to and from Tokyo, he’s still got a little of that residual jetlag lazing about his ears. Yunho’s schedule has been much less hectic, but he’s got an award show to go to tomorrow, and then after that they go right back into the press junket with _Guerilla Date_.

For now, they have time for kisses and welcome homes and more than fine fucking.

But Changmin’s not going to say that. He can’t give Yunho the satisfaction. “No comment,” he says.

“Mmm,” Yunho hums. He’s still on his back, seemingly uncaring of his nudity, but he’s got an odd look on his face. Changmin has a sinking feeling that it’s not because Changmin’s just spent like three minutes mumbling about normalcy.

It reminds Changmin of their first time, when Changmin lost it literally the moment they started, and Yunho (the asshole) had taken it upon himself to try to fix the situation by complimenting Changmin’s dick. (It had helped, but that really was beside the point. Yunho still glows every time he orgasms, and Changmin had immediately decided that was the more crucial information. He may or may not have purchased a paparazzi visor. He may or may not have been forced to sleep in his own room for two days.)

Yunho’s lips part soundlessly.

Changmin slaps his palm into the center of Yunho’s chest somewhat desperately. “Don’t say anything,” he says. He might feel Yunho up a little but his hand is just already _there_ and Yunho’s chest is also just. Really, really _there_. And also, Yunho’s the chest of Cassiopeia anyway so Changmin is _allowed_. Only, now Changmin’s thinking about how Yunho is Cassiopeia’s chest period, and he frowns. It would suck to end their honeymoon period this early, but their elephant in the room is brighter than the sun. Literally speaking. And several thousand light years away.

Changmin swallows.

“You’re thinking something dumb,” Yunho says, reaching up to intertwine their hands overtop his breastbone. “Stop thinking something dumb when I haven’t even given you a reason.”

Changmin’s head tilts to the side. “Excuse me?”

Yunho’s fingers tighten with bemusement. “Isn’t that a saying?” he replies, ignoring Changmin’s own question in favor of his own. He makes his eyes wide, mouth open a little, and Changmin is going to have to do something about this newfound innocence thing Yunho’s got going, because, to quote Yunho himself, time travel, I did actually graduate high school in Gwangju, you asshole-- do we have to watch Dalgona again? It’s annoying. And Changmin is not even a little bit charmed about it.

“I fucked your brains out,” says Yunho, seemingly out of the blue, but probably actually there was crucial context that Changmin missed lamenting about his reality.

Yunho is looking at him incredibly smugly.

Changmin licks his lips. “Um,” he says finally. “I mean, technically--”

“Technically you fucked _my_ brains out, so if anything, I should be the one saying dumb things,” Yunho says quickly.

Changmin opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Yunho tries to take his hand back.

“Right, yes,” Changmin blurts quickly. “But everything you say is dumb.”

Yunho gets his hand back and swats at Changmin. “Mean,” he says. “You are literally still in my ass and you’re being _mean_ to me.”

Changmin’s cheeks blaze even though he’s not a blushing virgin in the slightest. “I am not!” He glances down at his dick to make sure, and then puts both hands over it just in case Yunho decides to go another round to prove his point.

“Um, no,” says Yunho, face doing that odd thing again. “You’re _definitely_ still in me--”

“Oh my God!” shouts Changmin, even though he’s a Buddhist. “Yunho-hyung!”

“It’s cool, Changminnie, I know I’m too irresistible for you to think about things like condoms--”

“You don’t--You’re a Star!” sputters Changmin. “And a man!” His heart is racing. “We don’t need condoms!”

“Now, Changdol, just because that’s true doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful. I could have an STD. You could have an STD.”

“You are a Star!” Changmin interrupts again. “Stars don’t get STDS!” He’s aware he’s starting to sound like a broken record and that he’s still protectively cradling his dick but it’s fine.

“No, but clearly you think we can get celebrity disease,” teases Yunho, grinning wildly and reaching for Changmin’s hips.

“That joke is only funny when I make it!” shrieks Changmin, even as Yunho abandons Changmin’s hips so he can grab both of his hands.

Yunho pulls Changmin down on top of him, grinning. “Yeah, okay, Changdollie.”

Changmin’s foolish heart skips a beat. “Stop calling me Changdollie!” he starts to protest, when he feels Yunho’s palms settle onto his bare ass. Fuck. Yunho’s like. Doing that unfair glow thing he only got good at a few weeks ago, after the paparazzi visor stunt and Kyungjae-hyung actually needing some emergency glow healing (for braining himself on the door) and a stern talking to about knocking (on said barely bruised door).

Changmin’s totally drunkenly entertained both his own fingers and thoughts of Yunho’s fingers, glowing and warm and endorphin-inducing inside Changmin. All of his arguments and train of thoughts start to ebb away.

“Changdol,” Yunho says, lessening the glow as usual.

“My life is a drama,” Changmin groans out, and leans down to kiss him.

“You’re the one who made a big deal about consent,” says Yunho, into the seam of Changmin’s lips. Somehow, he’s still intelligible.

Changmin pulls back and twists his hips, reveling in the way Yunho’s eyes flutter closed.

“Consent is fucking important, Yunho-hyung,” he says. “But I seem to remember you already have mine--”

Yunho’s hands light up on the small of Changmin’s back. “Can I get it in writing?” he says. “I, Shim Changmin, hereby give Jung Yunho permission to sex me up with my magical glow powers--”

“We’d get arrested,” Changmin interjects, because that’s the easier part of that sentence to focus on first. The possibility of blinding their neighbors. He curves up into Yunho’s palms anyway, mind a little bit hazy, but still knowing he should be taking the absolute piss out of Yunho for uttering the phrase ‘sex me up.’ “Also, I absolutely did _not_ say that,” groans Changmin, which, like, isn’t nearly as intelligent as he would have liked.

He’s not even sure it’s true, at this point. Maybe he did say that. It’s hard to focus with Jung Yunho’s face in front of you, let alone with Jung Yunho himself sitting on your damn cock.

If he said it, Changmin was fucking justified.

 “You absolutely did say that,” says Yunho, sliding one gently thrumming hand up to pet the back of Changmin’s neck. “Don’t be shy, Changdol--”

Changmin bends down and takes Yunho’s bottom lip between his teeth, eyes flashing, before softening the nip back down into kissing. He grinds his hips forward until their cocks line up. “Does this feel shy to you?” he says, straight out of a bad porno. For a second, he worries that Yunho’s going to turn the conversation right back around to 2006, when every other variety show was ‘our maknae watches porn’ and ribbing him for not having had his first kiss, but then he very soon realizes he’s made an even graver mistake.

Yunho’s eyes light up before Changmin can so much as breathe, and the asshole _grins_. “Why, Changmin,” he says, voice breathless and mischievous and ruining Changmin’s entire life. “I didn’t know you’d give me permission to talk about little Changmin again!”

“Little Changmin!” shrieks Changmin, grappling for Yunho’s hands and pinning his wrists above his head. “Who the fuck taught you sex-education!?”

“Heechul-hyung,” Yunho provides promptly. “Also your porn collection.”

Changmin can feel himself rapidly losing control of the situation, even as he tightens his grip on Yunho’s wrists. Yunho’s hips have started moving in little, abortive thrusts that drag his dick along Changmin’s hips and abs and general abdominal region and they’re distracting and awful and fucking worthy of their title as dancing king or whatever. It would be so easy to just lean down and kiss the living daylights out of him, to put bruises on his wrists (because Yunho likes that--they’ve talked about that; there was healing in a bathroom and then impromptu shower sex because of that) and do his utmost best to make Yunho forget the day he tried to talk about Heechul-hyung in the bedroom.

But then Changmin’s fantasy would just go back to being masturbatory fodder, and given the state of their schedule and the fact that he now has daily access to the sexiest Star alive, it would never see the light of day. Save for a few drunken confessions to Kyuline.

Changmin is literally caught between a rock and a hard place.

And that hard place just so happens to be the sexiest Star alive, still rubbing his dick all over Changmin’s six pack.

“Yunho-hyung,” he says a little miserably. “You’re so mean to me.”

Yunho’s demeanor changes, eyes going sweet for a moment, before his hips freezes. “Only when you need it,” he says quietly, which Changmin absolutely doesn’t want to begin to understand. They’d talked about that briefly, but it had been embarrassing and confusing and there were wishes and the galaxy involved and Changmin hadn’t been ready for more than kisses and I really do love you and dragging Yunho out of the broom closet so they could perform live on stage.

“Yunho-hyung,” he says quietly, not even sure what to say, and Yunho’s eyes somehow soften even more.

He rolls them over so that Changmin’s the one pinned to the bed now, having gotten his wrists free when Changmin’s brain started whirring and his grip slackened. For a second Changmin thinks Yunho’s going to force the issue, but then he seems to steal himself, and his lips curve up into a smirk.

“How do you want it, Changdol?” Yunho asks, voice low and gritty and making Changmin see tiny, baby stars. How ironic that is. How unfair. His palms are glowing again, fingertips stroking up and down Changmin’s shoulders and arms into the crease between forearm and bicep like bubbles, warm, and pleasing, and laughter inducing.

Changmin’s never been ticklish before.

He wouldn’t mind starting.

Yunho is still talking. “Fast, or slow?” he asks, voice pitched low.

Changmin’s eyes want to roll back in his head. “Fuck, whatever you want,” he decides. He’s not sure what is hotter, the question, the glowing, or the fact that Yunho’s letting the other stuff lie. The question’s hot period, if not straight out of the porn collection Changmin has never denied; the glowing thing is hot physically, because of cell regeneration and skin…something; but the third thing is just.

The hottest for sure.

Because he’d thought, briefly, when he was still running around trying to figure out how to handle his feelings, that things might be hard with Yunho. After all, one of them was human, one of them was a celestial ball of gas; after all, one of them preferred staying home with video games, one of them had more friends than it even seemed possible. But then, that had been a stupid thought, because Yunho’s been with Changmin since before they were barely even teenagers. If pressed, Changmin might say he’s been in love with Yunho since they day he landed in his bedroom.

Even when they’re fighting, they’re still terribly, awfully in sync.

Of course currently, that means Yunho knows very well that Changmin’s not at all in a position to be making executive decisions, and yet is still holding the reins right out to him. He’s holding Changmin’s cock with the rest of him, glowing all the while.

Changmin blinks up bleary eyes. “Do you think I should go get the paparazzi visor?” he asks, words slurring together but still coming out mostly audible, and Yunho squawks, tightens his hand almost reflexively so that the breath whistles out between Changmin’s teeth.

“Now who’s being mean,” Yunho grumbles, and has the audacity to pout. His glow seems diminished now, much less focused on taking Changmin to pieces and more focused on reliving the hilarity that was Changmin showing up in the bedroom looking like a Daft Punk reject. “I hate that thing.”

“Okay, but I’d hate being blind,” replies Changmin, taking advantage of the lull to try to get his advantage back. He flexes a little against the bed and twists his cock forward pointedly so that Yunho has to look at him.

Yunho licks his lips like he can’t help himself.

Changmin grins.

Yunho’s eyes narrow. His hands heat up again.

“Fuck,” bites out Changmin. “Fuck. However you want,” he says again. “Like you love me.” There’s a beat. His cheeks heat up like flaming we fucked up beacons. Changmin screws his eyes shut. Maybe they won’t even have to--

“I always love you,” says Yunho, sounding subdued and amused all rolled into one. “Changmin--”

Changmin reaches up with one hand and grabs for the back of Yunho’s neck, eyes still shut, and tugs him down to kiss him again. “Your dirty talk fucking _sucks_ , Yunho-hyung.” It’s not kissing so much as talking directly into Yunho’s mouth. “I’m suing Heechul-hyung.”

Yunho drags suddenly oiled fingers down Changmin’s left flank. “Sue the porn,” he breathes right up against Changmin’s lips. “You love the cheese, Changdol.”

“Just fucking _fuck_ me,” Changmin begs out, very much _done_. He’s lost. He lost the day he wished on Yunho in the first place, only it’s taken him ten years to figure that out. Changmin is beyond lost. Changmin is _ruined_ , to the point where he should be worried about Yunho’s celestial background, because there will never be anyone else.

“Anything for you, Changmin,” says Yunho, and does.

They probably should have gotten the paparazzi visor.

Luckily, Yunho has magic healing powers.

“If you think about it, you wasted money,” says Yunho, one hand still over Changmin’s eyelids to be safe. “Like, what’s the point of that thing--”

“Okay one, that thing destroys paparazzi photos, which you hate--”

“Only when I’m not working,” Yunho mutters.

Changmin ignores him. “And two, I’d like my eyeballs to remain the same age as the rest of me, thanks.”

There’s a pause; Yunho’s probably pouting or something. “Okay but technically speaking wouldn’t your cells be changing anyway--?” he starts to say.

Changmin reaches out to throw a hand in the general direction of his mouth, entirely uncaring of the fact that he ends up with two fingers shoved between Yunho’s teeth. That’s fine. That’s not new. Just two minutes ago, Changmin was trying his hardest not to tear a hole in their bedsheets. Turnabout is fair play.

Or…something. It’s very possible that Yunho has gone and fucked Changmin’s brain out.

“That’s wrong,” he says, when it becomes clear Yunho’s just going to keep holding Changmin’s face and not speaking. “My eyeballs are as old as you make them.”

There’s a beat.

Changmin lets his hand drop onto the bed between them.

“Wow, okay.” Yunho pulls his hand away from Changmin’s face, and Changmin blinks said eyeballs open. “Are you sure you don’t have brain damage?”

Changmin smacks him in the chest. “Shut up.” He probably hadn’t actually gone blind or anything, but it really never hurts to be too careful, or something, and like. Yunho’s really got a thing for Changmin’s eyes, so. Not an entirely pointless healing.

Changmin’s face had been buried in the pillow anyway, because speaking was very rapidly becoming blackmail worthy, and Yunho’s hips clearly needed to come with a warning.

He turns his head to the side. His vision is fucking fine.

Yunho is looking at him with a pleased, gentle smile. He looks like he wants to go on about Changmin’s eyes again.

Changmin has a terrible urge to kiss him. “You win,” he says finally, voice rough. “It’s a thing.”

Yunho’s smile grows. “Say it,” he says.

Changmin shakes his head. “You fucked my brains out, Hyung,” he says. “Want that in writing too?”

Yunho leans in to use Changmin’s chest as a pillow, twining their legs together and stifling a yawn. “You should go to sleep, Changdol,” he says. “We’ve got a busy week.”

“Our _lives_ are busy,” Changmin grumbles, but closes his eyes anyway.

\--

Their lives are busy. The Korean repackage comes out and Avex starts bugging them for the Japanese comeback. Changmin comes out of an early meeting wondering when they’re going to run out of one syllable English words that start with the letter ‘t’--and if they’ll move on to ‘v’ next or something--and an infinite glee at the prospect of growing his hair out.

In November, the _Catch Me Tour starts_ and while they try their best to be professionals whenever they do schedules, there are moments on stage and in between soundchecks and even, notably, one time walking through Gimpo, where Yunho’s fingers clench in the effort to keep from lighting up the whole stage, soundcheck, or airport. Changmin becomes grateful for flashbulbs and overhead spotlights; Kyungjae-hyung puts in several aborted requests to work with EXO; their female staff stop cooing and actually take to punching them in the arms.

“You’re making us look bad,” they say. “How are we supposed to marry someone who will look at us like Yunho-oppa?”

 _Mine_ , is Changmin’s first thought, then _ow_ , and usually: “Well, he’s literally not of this planet so I don’t know if you’ll be able to get anything close.”

Christmas arrives and passes and Changmin goes into negotiations for Kang Hodong’s new unnamed KBS program. Somehow, Changmin and Yunho have been famous for nine years. It’s startling, nearly unheard of, and entirely swept under the rug because next year is the big one. Ten years. Changmin almost can’t believe it.

Yunho certainly can’t, even though he’s got more than two years on Changmin and TVXQ both.

But it’s nice. The holidays are nice, and where they are now is nice, with bonus orgasms and kisses and teasing.

And then, startlingly, everything screeches rather abruptly to a halt.

“Say that again?” says Changmin. His throat suddenly feels parched.

Yunho’s manager refuses to look away from Changmin’s eyes, but he looks severely uncomfortable about it. “You need to move out,” he says.

They’re in the middle of the craze of the end of year promotion. Yunho and SM The Performance have a rehearsal to make sure they’re ready for KBS in twenty minutes. Changmin’s been texting Kyuline on off about going out drinking even though they haven’t finished all the Gayo Daejuns yet as some sort of preemptive ‘we made it and we’re on top of the world and we didn’t even need they-who-shall-not-be-named’ celebration.

Kyungjae-hyung’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Sorry,” he says.

Changmin frowns. “You mean, they think we’re moving out,” he says, because just a few weeks ago there had been fuss all over SNS about it but that had been bad rumors and nothing more. Every so often the higher ups at SM turn up their noses about the fact that he and Yunho are near thirty and still sharing a dorm, but it’s cheaper, and they’re in Japan more often than Korea anyway.

“No.” Kyungjae-hyung looks apologetic.

Changmin’s mouth opens, and then he turns quickly to Yunho to gauge his reaction. And then he stops. Yunho won’t meet his eyes. Changmin’s stomach drops. “Hyung.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Yunho says hurriedly, still not looking at Changmin. “I just. I’m going to be twenty-eight next year.”

Changmin’s pulse jumps. “But you’re not human,” he says.

Yunho finally looks at him, brows furrowing. “Changmin,” he says. “When was the last time I healed anybody?”

Changmin opens his mouth. _Ages_ , he realizes, and closes it. “But you glow,” he mumbles. “You glowed last night.”

Neither Yunho nor Kyungjae-hyung flinch at the tacit admission that that was what the two of them had done the moment they finished their rehearsal. Changmin is belatedly and irrationally embarrassed.

“That’s just because I’m happy,” says Yunho. “I always glow around you.” He probably means that nicely, but Changmin’s having a hard time dealing with the mess of being evicted, let alone the looming threat of Yunho’s not quite immortality.

He latches onto what little drama he can suss from the situation with pursed lips. “Oh, just,” he says. “Just happy.” He licks his lips. “Well, I’m sorry that you’re _just_ happy with me.”

“Changmin,” Yunho says, undeterred by Changmin’s haphazard attempts to provoke him.

Changmin thinks: are they really that bad, they must be since Yunho can see right through them, or maybe they just know each other better than ever because all the barriers between them were peeled away with the first kisses and first blowjobs and first everythings.  

“My parents are asking about marriage,” says Yunho.

Changmin zeroes in on that like a heat seeking missile. “Your parents aren’t human either,” he snaps, neck flaring red.

“But the fans--”

“Are human,” continues Changmin. “Who cares what they think--certainly not you, _not_ a human.” He’s aware that he’s not making sense and he’s already regretting that jab at their fans but he can’t do anything about that now. He’s breathing hard. His ears are on fire. They have barely hours before three end of year programs. This entire conversation is unfair.  

“They’re going to call me next year, Changdol,” says Yunho. “It would be good to get used to it.”

“They are not,” Changmin barters, even though he knows, even though his parents have started to talk about it, even though Yunho’s started making the trip home to Gwangju whenever he can be spared. “Get used to what?” He already knows.

“Being apart,” says Yunho anyway, because he is an asshole after all, and maybe more human than Changmin wants to admit. “It’ll be four years, anyway.”

Changmin feels his face still. “What are you talking about?” he says, voice deadly soft. “I’m going with you.” His heart is pounding chaotically in his chest.

Yunho isn’t looking at him again, mouth turned down and pulled to one side, but hands still and steadfast at his sides. Fuck him. Fuck his stubborn, dumb, unfailing heart that Changmin fucking fell in love with.

He turns to Kyungjae-hyung. “Hyung.”

“You’ve got your show.” Kyungjae-hyung sounds even worse now.

“And we already know you can act,” Yunho interjects, finally looking up at Changmin. His looks like he’s got his mind made up.

Changmin can’t fucking _stand_ him. That’s _unfair_. Normally, Changmin would take the moment to be Yunho’s biggest and most vocal fan, because it’s been a few years since he’s been in any sort of drama and for all Yunho knows he’ll hit it out of the park and certainly going into the situation without any confidence is a death sentence.

But not now.

Not today.

“It makes sense for you to go one after another,” says Kyungjae-hyung. “It’s what Super Junior are doing.”

Changmin bites back all sorts of retorts about how well that’s going, since at this rate, it will be 2020 before they’re all back together.

He turns back to Yunho, and clearly the Star hadn’t been expecting that, because in that split second Changmin sees the pure terror he’s been so carefully hiding behind the calm, I’ve made up my mind façade. Normally Changmin would feel comforted.

But not now.

Not today.

“Fine,” Changmin says. “I’ll start looking at apartments.”

“Thank you,” says Kyungjae-hyung, sounding it, but Changmin is too focused on Yunho, who looks shattered.

So it _was_ a bluff. So Changmin was supposed to fight for them all by himself. Screw that. Changmin will fucking buy the biggest, baddest, most expensive bachelor pad in the whole of Seoul and have wild, crazy, celebrity parties that Yunho won’t be invited to but will hear all about because all of his friends will.

Screw.  Jung. Fucking. Yunho.

\--

Changmin is screwing Jung Fucking Yunho. There’s irony in this, but mostly, there’s Changmin inside Yunho, who’s on his back with his eyes slowly going crossed and his mouth slowly falling open and raw, unfiltered affection spilling off him in unavoidable waves of light.

Changmin wants to hate him more than the world itself but he can’t.

They’d gone on stage for MBC, performed, watched their juniors win awards, clapped, smiled for the cameras, welcomed the New Year three days early, and then gone straight back to the apartment they still shared in complete, unsettling silence.

And then Yunho had looked at Changmin, had set his shoes down neatly beside the door without even thinking, and there’d been one beautiful moment where Changmin realized that being mad about this wouldn’t change it. That they were still going to have to wake up the next morning and help each other pack their lives up into boxes so they could stop being quite so much of a walking cliché.

And, well.

What was fighting, if they could be fucking at the same time.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho wraps his legs around Changmin’s waist and groans. “Stop thinking.”

Changmin blinks down blearily at him, and thinks briefly about slowing.

Almost as if reading his mind, Yunho glares, nostrils flaring, and clenches down. That backfires a little because the glow coming off him goes briefly brilliant, and Changmin decides it’s safer for his eyesight and heart to just hide his face in the junction between Yunho’s shoulder and neck. “What if I’m just thinking that I love you,” he says quietly.

Yunho’s breath hisses between his teeth. “But you’re still mad at me,” he says, hips twisting and one hand coming up to press to the center of Changmin’s back. His palm is blazing.

Changmin pulls away with a moan, brow furrowed into a harsh line. “You’re not _human_ ,” he says, hips still snapping forward almost cruelly but with much less confidence behind them. “You. You _glow_.”

Yunho brings his other hand up to touch Changmin’s face. “Only because I’m happy,” he says again.

Changmin glares at him and tries to pull away.

Yunho’s grip on his cheek tightens. His other hand shifts suddenly, dragging down the swell of Changmin’s shoulder blades until he finds all the aching spots, the bits still bruised and tender from more than a few stumbles practicing the flip in ‘Catch Me.’ They heat up. Yunho pulls away.

Changmin blinks. Shifts. Still feels sore.

They’re not moving anymore.

Changmin’s dick isn’t very happy about that.

Changmin’s dick can fucking deal.

“What?”

“Side effect of being on Earth for this long,” Yunho says. “Sorry.” He soothes a hand over the muscles of Changmin’s back a few times, like that’s why he should be sorry. Like the convenient way he could take out hangover headaches or muscle aches is what they should be mourning for here.  

Changmin reaches back and grabs his hand, heart pounding. He pulls it down between them, twists free of Yunho’s other hand and grabs that one as well, holding them together in one hand and breathing hard. “Hyung,” he says.

“They’re going to call me next year,” Yunho says again. “And I’m going to go.”

Changmin cannot believe they are having this conversation _in_ bed. “Great,” he says finally. “And I’m going to go _with_ you--”

“No, Changmin.” Yunho pulls his hands out of Changmin’s grip and pulls himself up, rearranging them so that Changmin has to sit back on his haunches with his knees bent, still fucking deep inside of Yunho, who settles into his lap with only mildly sighing and fluttering lashes.

It’s distracting and awful and the man is still fucking glowing. The Star.

Changmin’s head hurts.

“I need you to take care of Cassiopeia for me when I go,” says Yunho.

Changmin growls and palms Yunho’s hips, _hard_. “But you’re Cassiopeia,” he says, moving again because that’s the easiest, the only thing he knows how to do.

Yunho’s head lolls a little.

“You’re my Cassiopeia,” he says. “You’re my own little piece of Cassiopeia and you’re not _allowed_.”

Yunho’s head tips all the way back and he groans, thrusting up against Changmin’s abs like he can’t quite believe himself.

Changmin lets himself look down, lets himself bite crescent moons into the skin of Yunho’s hips with the urge not to reach down for his cock to just help.

“Changminnie.” Yunho’s voice is breathless and barely audible. “That’s not fair.”

Changmin wants to laugh. He lets go of Yunho’s hips so that he can pull him up for kisses and hugs and whatever, one of Yunho’s arms settling around Changmin’s shoulders and the other going for the back of his head.

“You’re telling me about _fair_ ,” Changmin says with a particularly sharp thrust.

Yunho groans and tugs at Changmin’s hair. “I am the only person who makes decisions for me,” he gets out, leaning down to press gentling kisses to the line of Changmin’s jaw in counter. “I want this,” he says. “Remember?”

Changmin doesn’t want to think about that old hang up, but there it is, right out in the open. “But you’re only here because of me,” he blurts out, trying to bring them back from the brink fruitlessly.

Yunho sighs, pulls away from Changmin’s jaw with a bitten off groan, and very gently reaches down to hold Changmin by the hand.

“Changmin,” he says. “If I couldn’t make a decision without your permission, don’t you really think I would have spent so long leaving toothpaste in the shower?”

That’s enough to give Changmin pause. “Okay, I thought you said that was just because you forgot,” he says.

“Also, would I really have forced poor manager-hyung to listen to you rant about water bottles for as long as I did?”

Changmin’s stomach is a mess of fucking bubbles or something what the fuck. “What the fuck, Yunho-hyung.”

“I am in love with you,” Yunho says. “And barring that horrific moment in May when you told me you that you were lying--”

“--okay I was talking about the Star thing--”

“--I know you’re in love with me,” Yunho finishes, unbothered. “You make me so happy that I glow, Changdol.” As if to prove a point, Yunho lights up both of his hands, still holding Changmin’s, and grins. “And that’s not because of a stupid wish you made when you were fifteen.”

“You wouldn’t know,” Changmin says darkly. “This Star thing seems inferential. For all you know I _could have_ wished for the love of my life.” He nearly bites through his own tongue in his haste to stop saying that, and then just sort of stares down at their hands (which are so helpfully right above Yunho’s still hard dick) helplessly. Even more embarrassingly, Changmin’s own dick has lost no interest whatsoever.

“True.” Yunho sounds bemused. “My hair was really long because of you.”

And Changmin had _forgotten_ that, but now it’s all back in technicolor horror. “Yunho-hyung,” he says. “I was fourteen.”

“Fifteen,” Yunho corrects. “We were in Korea.”

“Whatever,” says Changmin. “I was a child.”

“A child who really liked me with long hair,” says Yunho, and then his lips twist. He shifts around on Changmin’s cock a few times. “This is probably supremely inappropriate.”

Changmin’s teeth grit with the urge to fuck up. “You think?” He’s not sure how he’s still using words. “Stop talking about prepubescent me when you’re sitting on my dick.”

Yunho frowns. “But Changmin,” he says. “It’s important.”

“I understand that you have free will outside of my wishes,” Changmin bites out. “Now fucking stop that.”

Yunho stops moving abruptly. “Are you sure you want that?”  

Changmin groans. “No,” he says.

Yunho looks smug. “Thought so.”

Changmin glowers at him. “I hate you,” he says.

“You love me,” Yunho says. “Now, are we done arguing about the military?”

Changmin sighs. “No,” he says, but what he means is yes, because he knows it makes sense for the two of them to maybe overlap a year at most, and because he knows that moving out makes sense.

“Awesome,” Yunho says, somehow getting all of that. “Now fuck me.”

Changmin growls, but rolls them over anyway. “Hate you,” he repeats.

“Love you too, Changdollie,” breathes Yunho, and glows.

\--

“I still hate it,” Changmin says, into the dark of the night several hours later.

At his side, Yunho doesn’t so much as sigh. “Which thing?”

Changmin smacks him. “The immortal thing is a relief, you dick,” he says. “Which do you think?”

“Ow.” Yunho pauses like he’s laughing. “The fact that I’m going to die like the rest of us is a relief to you and _I’m_ the asshole?” he says.

Changmin smacks him again. “You know what I mean,” he says.

Yunho’s still totally laughing. “I don’t know, Changminnie,” he says. “Maybe we should get that in writing.”

“Can you stop that,” Changmin whines. “Fucking Kyuhyun found it and I haven’t lived it down.”

Yunho’s definitely giggling now. “I’m not the one who invited him over for song writing.”

“No, but you are the one who put it with my _songwriting_ ,” snaps Changmin. “The bastard is never going to let me live it down.”

“Don’t be mean about Kyuhyunie’s parents, Changdol,” says Yunho.

Changmin breathes through his nose. “Yunho-hyung,” he says slowly. “Stop changing the subject.”

The mood goes abruptly serious. “Right.” Yunho doesn’t sounded amused anymore. “Right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He yawns. “Is it 2013?”

“I am going to punch you into 2013,” Changmin says between gritted teeth. “Yunho-hyung.”

“Right, sorry,” Yunho says again, gone back to amused. “I’m glad you’re glad I’ll get to grow old with you too.”

Changmin.

Is moderately speechless.

“Hyung,” he says rather helplessly.

“That’s what you meant right?”

How does Yunho do that, understand Changmin so fully and yet sound so blasé about the whole thing. Changmin’s been listening to great artists write tragic love songs about lost love for years. Changmin’s been writing tragic love songs for years. Changmin, somehow, wished upon a fucking star, and got his own personal tragic love song. Complete with a betrayal by close friends, more misunderstandings than ever needed, and now, even the South Korean military.

Yunho reaches down to hold Changmin’s hand again. “I am glad,” he says, gently. And then, after another long pause, quickly, “Imagine how awkward things would have been if I had to start pretending to be like your son or something.”

Changmin.

Changmin cannot believe this is the love of his life. “Yunho _-hyung_ ,” he yelps out. “What the fuck?”

Yunho doesn’t let go of his hand. “Changmin-ah,” he says back. “It’s a valid fear.”

“A valid fear,” Changmin parrots back. “It is _not_!”

There’s a pause. “You mean you weren’t worried?”

“That you’d somehow stop aging and leave me alone to be gray and wrinkly?” blurts Changmin. “I live with you, idiot.”

There’s another pause. “What does that have to do with--”

“I clean your hair out of the drain!” shrieks Changmin. “I fucking _sleep_ with you every night--”

“Okay but what does that have to do with--”

Changmin is so glad the lights are out. “If I say something, you are going to spend the next two months making Cordi-noona’s life a living hell,” he says primly.

Yunho finally lets go of Changmin’s hand.

Yunho also, unfortunately, definitely reaches up for his hair. “Changminnie do I have grey hairs?”

“ _I_ have grey hairs!” Changmin shouts, and when he realizes that Yunho is fucking with him and laughing, tackles the Star straight into the mattress.

Yunho giggles the whole time, which really means there’s no point in Changmin tickling him like he’d planned, so instead he settles for making himself the most comfortable yet still hindering bedmate possible, complete with a few elbows to the ribs and other sensitive areas.

Yunho drops his hands down to protect his dick with a frown. Changmin can’t believe he can see that, but their noses are touching, so really of course he can. “Oof,” Yunho says.

“Shut up,” Changmin says.

“But Changmin you’re heavy,” says Yunho. “That means you’re aging too--”

Changmin leans down and kisses him. “Shut. Up.” He says clearly, kissing Yunho in between the words. “Yunho. Hyung.”

Yunho looks up at him with parted lips. “Kay,” he says.

Changmin is so in love with him. “I am glad, though,” he says quietly. “That you’ll get old with me.”

Yunho’s mouth turns up at the corners. “Before you, even,” he says. He snakes a hand up to feel up Changmin’s abs. “Particularly since you’re so into the gym right now.”

“Hodong-hyung isn’t sure what the show format is going to be,” he says, blushing a little despite himself.

“Hodong-hyung is most definitely not going to make you work out while reading books, Changmin,” points out Yunho. He’s still touching Changmin’s abs, so he can’t be too bothered.

After a mild pause, Changmin drops his weight more solidly on top of Yunho. Their hips line up.

Yunho’s eyelids flutter.

Changmin hides a grin behind bitten lips.

Yunho reaches up to touch him on the cheek again. His fingertips glow.

Changmin sighs and his eyes are the ones fighting to stay open now.  “Your apartment better be fucking close to mine.”

“Same building,” Yunho agrees.

“And we’re not doing this in Japan.” Changmin moves a leg around on the bed to avoid the wetspot, mostly, which has the added benefit of flopping him more soundly onto Yunho’s chest. “Half the time we’re in Japan I’m jetlagged.”

“There’s no time difference though,” points out Yunho.

Changmin ignores him. “I like our apartment in Japan. We’re not getting rid of it.”

Yunho settles a hand into his hair. “Kay,” he says, again.

 _Don’t forget me_ , Changmin thinks, but doesn’t say, dropping his head down between Yunho’s collar bones. _Don’t you dare forget me when you’re away, you asshole_.

Yunho just pets his hair, hearing it all.

\--

“Don’t talk to me,” Changmin says, coming off the stage with his hair damp and his heart pounding. He’s in the same clothes that started it all, complete with the monogram stitching over top the left pocket spelling out their unwieldy group name across two lines.

There had been cake.

And beer.

And the roar of the crowd.

Changmin had looked across at Yunho and realized he didn’t want to do this alone for any longer than he needed to.

Yunho had looked right back and agreed.

It had been more exhilarating than all five domes and Nissan stadium combined.

But that didn’t mean Changmin was going to let Yunho get away with it.

“Don’t talk to me,” he says again.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho sounds breathy and airy and weightless. His hands are shaking a little.

Their camera man, tasked with recording behind the scenes footage for their various DVDs and website releases, looks mildly nervous.

Changmin doesn’t really care.  “Do not talk to me,” he says again.

Guyoung-hyung is standing to the side holding their water bottles, but even he takes a step back when Changmin heads towards him.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho follows after him without even any pause. He grabs the bottle clearly marked ‘Changmin’ and take a big, lip-touching swig.

The blood rushes in Changmin’s ears. His left eye twitches. His bangs, weighed with sweat, fall uncomfortably across his forehead. Changmin cannot believe he has long and blond hair again. He can’t believe how good Yunho looks with the sides chopped off and his own hair a not so bright mahogany.

“I’m going to defer,” Yunho continues, finished with Changmin’s water bottle and passing it back to Guyoung-hyung without even seeming to be bothered.

Their dancer takes it with his mouth open; at least he doesn’t seem immune to the horror of the situation.

Changmin doesn’t know what to focus on first.

“You should call your doctor,” Yunho continues.

“You’re twenty-eight,” Changmin says.

“Twenty-seven, technically,” Yunho says. “I can defer until next year.”

Changmin takes the water bottle marked Yunho with unfounded glee, because Yunho doesn’t care who drinks from his water and in what way. “I know,” he says before he can help himself. “I mean no. I mean don’t talk to me. I mean.” He unfastens the lid to Yunho’s water bottle and takes great gulps, making sure his lips are all over it out of spite and not panic.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho isn’t bothered because of course he’s not. He takes his water bottle from Changmin’s not finished hands, takes his own lip-touching swig, and then hands it to Guyoung-hyung.

Changmin can’t fucking look away from his mouth.

“Let’s go together, Changminnie,” says Yunho.

Changmin feels his hands twitch for the water bottle (so he can upend it over the top Yunho’s head) before he can help himself.

Guyoung-hyung very abruptly shuts his mouth and makes a beeline back towards their other staff.

The camera man has lowered his camera and is frowning, looking vaguely sorry for himself.

“It’ll be okay,” one of their staff is saying.

“It’s their tenth anniversary, though,” another one replies. “The fans will be mad if we don’t have backstage footage.”

“No they won’t.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We can just dress Changmin in drag next time.”

“Yeah, well, knowing the two of them we’d get no usable footage of that either.”

Changmin decides for his own self preservation he should just stop eavesdropping.

Yunho is still looking at him with half moons for eyes.

“Yah,” Changmin says. “You don’t get to do this.”

“But Changdol.” Yunho has the audacity to fucking pout.

“I did not spend the entire year coming to terms with your decision to enlist into active duty, you dick,” says Changmin. “For you to change your mind because of a concert.”

“Changmin, it wasn’t just because of the concert.”

“Kyuline has stopped calling me to go hang out because whenever we do all I do is complain about how I miss you and brag about how good you are in bed,” Changmin continues, because if you start something you better finish it.

“It wasn’t because of the concert,” Yunho repeats.

“The most fun I had all year was making you wearing that ridiculous hoodie.” Changmin jabs a finger into the center of Yunho’s chest, and goes a little cross-eyed staring at said chest. The white t-shirts hadn’t been that much of a big deal in 2004. But then, in 2004, Changmin hadn’t had access to chest beneath the shirt. In 2004, Changmin had just been mad at the world and mostly Jung Yunho for being the _worst_ person and hiding the _biggest secret_ for two whole years.

“Technically manager-hyung made me wear the hoodie,” says Yunho.

“Technically manager-hyung made you wear the hoodie because my teeth were all over your neck,” retorts Changmin.

Yunho’s the one going cross-eyed now. “Yeah,” he says.

Changmin _hates_ him.

“Hyung.” He turns towards their peanut gallery and maintains a straight face somehow. “I need to call my doctor.”

Yunho goes all smiley and golden out of the corner of his eye and all of their staff wince.

Changmin ducks his head and tries not to smile automatically in return.

Their camera man throughs up his hands. “Ruined,” he says.

“Drag,” the rest of their staff say.

Changmin reaches out to grab Yunho’s hand, and tugs him in close. “I’m still mad at you,” he says, even as his eyes twinkle in counter.

Yunho looks back at him, hair wet and mussed, in the clothes they started in, practically vibrating with the urge to light up the entire backstage.

That would be bad.

The fans aren’t out of the building yet and they have to do it all over again tomorrow.

Changmin really doesn’t care. “I told you so,” he tells Yunho.

Yunho fingers are warm around Changmin’s. “You did,” he says.

“Four years,” Changmin scoffs. “Please.”

Yunho’s eyes crinkle up at the corners. “What was I thinking.”

“You weren’t,” Changmin says quickly, thumb rubbing circles along Yunho’s. “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” Yunho agrees.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” Changmin says, not even blushing. “Because if you aren’t you’re even more of a failure than I thought--”

Yunho throws his head back and laughs like he does on camera, but with more meaning. And then he leans in and kisses Changmin, gentling little kisses that have no place backstage at their tenth anniversary concert, having made the rather terrifying decision to go on a two-year hiatus together.

“But to be clear, what happens when we’re old and grey?” adds Changmin, not pulling out of the kiss but opening one eye.

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m always going to be with you.”

Changmin mulls that over. “So we’ll go back up into the sky together,” he decides. “Because I did some research, and I’d like to be Delta Cassiopeiae--”

Yunho leans in and nips Changmin right on the bottom lip. “Changdol-ah.” His voice is all breathless and not because he’s run out of air singing ‘Hug.’ “Stop talking.”

Changmin’s belly churns pleasantly. “Right,” he says. “I can do that.”

“Good.” And Yunho kisses him again.

\--

 _내일밤이_ _오면_  
_저_ _하늘을_ _바라봐_  
_밝혀줄께_  
_보이니_  
I’m your Lucky Star  
I’m your Lucky Star  
I’m your Lucky Star

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!!!! Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I know it took forever but I really hope it was worth it and you all enjoyed reading about Jung Alpha Cassiopeiae Yunho and Shim Delta Cassiopeiae Changmin. I certainly loved writing them. :)
> 
> Comments/kudos/retweets/shares are LOVEEEEE.
> 
> [Tumblr masterpost](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/168977869370/title-lucky-star-wordsrating-70k-explicit-pic) || [Twitter masterpost](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/945801748890968064)
> 
> CHECK OUT THE [BEAUTIFUL EDIT](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/166267288665/lucky-star-author-zimriya-pairing-yunhochangmin) THAT GOES WITH THIS.


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